


The Lines are Drawn

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Canonical Character Death, Forbidden Love, M/M, Magic, Magic is Banned After Merlin Arrives, Medium Burn, Rebellion, Uther Pendragon Never Banned Magic (Merlin), War, Ygraine Lives (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 57,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Queen Ygraine lives, and magic isn’t banned even if it is on thin ice. Merlin comes to Camelot, and just as before he saves Arthur’s life, but this time he doesn’t need to keep his magic hidden, or hidden from Arthur at least.It’s all spoiled by the arrival of the Questing Beast. Once again, Nimueh takes Ygraine’s life to save Arthur’s.Magic is banned. Merlin finds himself fleeing Camelot in the wake, and Arthur finds himself torn between his obligations to his father, and the safety of the man he... his dearest friend.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 195
Kudos: 597





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur bond ft. some appearances by a few canon episodes

Camelot is both exactly like what Merlin expected, and nothing like it at all. He’d imagined huge parapets, and turrets stretching into the sky, streets overrun with people hawking their wares, and more stone than he’s ever seen in his life in Ealdor. He also imagined guards. Lots of them. 

It’s well known across the kingdom that King Uther’s relationship to magic is tenuous at best. It isn’t outright banned because too many of his allies have embraced magic as one embraces a force of nature. Most have at least one court sorcerer, if not a whole battalion waiting in the wings. It wouldn’t be wise for Uther to weaken his kingdom to their attack without good reason. So magic sits uncomfortably in the day to day, any crime committed with its aid punishable by death.

Merlin pictures guards. Lots of them, watching menacingly for any slip up of a magical crime, no matter how minor. He wishes, not for the first time, that this friend of his mother’s lived somewhere like Lothian. Magic is accepted there, treated the same as any other tool. Even if he has no interest in ever committing a crime, the knowledge hangs overhead threatening to drop and crush him. Still, Camelot is safer than staying in Essestir, and Merlin leaves before the sun is fully warm. 

When he enters the courtyard he finds more stone than he’s ever seen in his life. He sees the turrets and parapets. People spill across the walkways, cheerfully calling to one another. He sees the guards going about their duties, but not nearly in the numbers he expected. The people don’t seem afraid of them, despite the specter of the laws hanging over them all.

He also doesn’t expect to get into an argument within his first five minutes, let alone an argument with the Prince himself. He didn’t expect to be thrown into the stocks within—well ever, but it isn’t entirely surprising considering the argument. He never expected to get into an actual fight the Prince of Camelot either, let alone one that is mostly a game of tag with some scrapping thrown in like they’re a couple of puppies.

He has also never expected any man to look him deeply in the eyes with something akin to wonder, and say “There’s something about you, Merlin”, especially said prince.

His brain seems stuck on the phrase he uttered in their first encounter: _Oh. You have no idea._

So the strangeness of his arrival in Camelot can really only be topped off by the incident at the feast. The hall is decorated richly, the nobility in attendance dressed equally as so. There’s more food than he’s ever seen in his life, and just the idea of it makes his stomach ache. 

The royal family sits at the head of the hall, looking as regal as they should. King Uther looks more or less like he imagined, steely gaze, greying hair, wrinkles. Though Merlin wasn’t quite creative enough to add the battle scar on his forehead. Prince Arthur obviously gets his looks from Queen Ygraine. Same blonde hair, same blue eyes. Though while the kindness seems to shine out Ygraine’s eyes, the kindness in Arthur’s eyes is tucked away, hidden as though the King would disapprove. Lady Morgana is breathtakingly gorgeous, but is clearly the odd one out. It makes sense that she’s the King’s Ward.

After Merlin’s initial observations, things go mad. There’s singing, people falling asleep, two assassination attempts, and Merlin somehow ends up appointed to the role of manservant.

Saving Prince Arthur’s life gets added to the list of things he never expected to happen.

*

There’s a knock on the door, and it pulls Arthur from his thoughts. The assassination attempt from last night sits strangely in his stomach. It isn’t the first time someone has tried to kill him, or kidnap him, nor is it the first time someone has used magic in the process. He is convinced those very attempts are what lead his father to implement the law about magical crimes being punishable by death.

So it is perhaps not the attempt itself that has left him shaken. Instead, it is the way he got out of said attempt with his life. There’s no accounting for how that chandelier fell, or how that lanky klutz Merlin was able to drag him out of the way of the knife at the last second. 

“Come in.” Arthur calls, and the door to his chambers swings open.

Merlin stumbles inside, balancing a breakfast tray and pitcher rather poorly in his arms. It looks like it will take a tumble any second, but it miraculously stays upright as Merlin walks across the chambers and deposits it on the table.

Arthur pops a grape in his mouth, attempting to be casual, as Merlin dusts his hands off on his trousers. 

“You know, I can’t figure it out.” Arthur says, and Merlin frowns at him.

“Figure out what, Sire?”

“How you were able to save me,” Arthur responds, “No one else noticed the knife until it was too late. You reacting that quickly—it was almost magical.”

Merlin goes still, all fidgeting stops. He shoots Arthur a sideways glance, and says “Would that be a problem, Sire?”

Ah. That explains it all then. Scrawny and awkward as Merlin may be, he has magic. A good deal of it if he was able to save Arthur’s life. 

“Not for me.” He answers easily, “I wouldn’t suggest letting my father catch you though. Only our Court Sorceress is allowed to practice magic within castle walls, and my father can be a bit quick with the axe.”

Merlin grins, and it lights up his whole face. It’s one of those smiles that is impossible to resist. Arthur smiles back, warmth spreading through his chest. He isn’t sure if it’s their shared secret, something Arthur has never had with someone else, or the strange respect he found for Merlin during their scraps the previous days. Either way, he’s pretty sure he’s just made a friend.

People risk their lives for friends right? 

The answer must be yes, because he and Merlin do it often and well. It starts with the tourney, and Knight Valiant. Merlin risks his neck bringing the snakes to life so Arthur has a fair shot at fighting them. 

Then Merlin drinks poison during Bayard’s visit, once again risking himself to keep Arthur safe. He goes to retrieve the damn flower without his father’s blessings, but with encouragement from his mother, and Morgana. Twice Merlin has saved his life, and Arthur won’t let him die. He encounters beasts, spider-things, and a dangerous climb up a sheer face of rock. He knows the guiding light, when he clumsily drops his torch, is Merlin’s. It gives him the courage he needs to keep going. His hear thrums in his chest, beating out the rhythm that Merlin is still alive. _Alive. Alive. Alive._

Arthur risks his own neck to try to take down the griffin, and nearly dies for his efforts, but Merlin is there by his side just like all the other times. They take down the griffin with a bit of magic and a bit of steel, just like when they took down Valiant. 

They hug after, cheering like they just won a ball game against some of the lads in the lower town. They both know it is absolutely mad that they pulled this off, and as Merlin is running his hands through his hair, still shocked he pulled off such a tricky spell, Arthur knows that the warmth in his chest is more than friendship.

It makes the choice in the Labyrinth of Gedref even easier. It was his own fault for being the hot headed prat Merlin always accused him of being, and so the consequences should fall to him. Even if he hadn’t that realization, however, he still would have never let Merlin drink the poison. Merlin has drunk poison for him once already, and that is more than enough, but it is more than that. Merlin is his dearest friend in the whole world. He’s annoying, stubborn, and too kind for his own good. Arthur refuses to let someone he loves die. _I can’t believe he fell for that._ is the last coherent thought he has as he snags Merlin’s goblet and downs both himself.

The world fades to black, and then fades back into clarity. Merlin is there, looking quite annoyed. He lays into Arthur about risking his life, and Arthur laughs.

“You’re a bit of hypocrite, Merlin.” he teases

Merlin huffs out a laugh, and hauls Arthur back to his feet with strength that is always disguised by his slender frame, and too large jacket, “You gave me a heart attack, you prat.” Merlin grumbles.

Arthur sometimes gets the feeling that he’s not the only one to notice that Merlin is special. 

As his manservant, Merlin is required to go where he goes, including council meetings. Most of the time, Merlin is the only thing that makes them tolerable. He shoots Arthur funny faces over the top of the counselors’ heads when they’re bent over maps or other documents. Sometimes he’ll make faces when he thinks that a counselor is going in the wrong direction, and Arthur finds those faces tend to line up with his gut feelings. He looks for those faces when he knows something is off.

The problem is that Nimueh looks too. Arthur catches her glancing between them, eyes shrewd like she knows. Like she knows that Merlin is his friend. Knows that some nights, when Merlin is too exhausted from running errands for Arthur on top of practicing his magic, Merlin will instead just crash on the thick rug in front of Arthur’s fire even though he is gone by morning. 

Arthur’s gut twists when Nimueh’s eyes linger on Merlin. Her gaze is calm and calculating, which is worse than shrewd. Nimueh has always put Arthur on edge despite the opinions of his parents. There’s something about her that he just can’t trust. The thought of her wrapping Merlin up in one of her schemes is incredibly uncomfortable. He finds himself wanting to snatch Merlin away from under her gaze and hide him away where she can’t manipulate him or use him to her own ends.

He catches Merlin after one such incident. Nimueh’s eyes had followed Merlin across the room as he worked, like what was being discussed was of no consequence. Considering they were discussing rumors of an invasion force from the south, she really should have paid attention. Instead it was like Merlin was the only thing she could focus on.

The late afternoon light spills through the windows in Arthur’s chambers, bathing the entire room in a golden-orange glow. Merlin is in the center of it, cheating at his chores as per usual. A broom is sweeping the floor all on its own, and a brush polishes a boot that is hovering midair. Merlin himself is sharpening Arthur’s sword, murmuring something in a language Arthur can’t understand.

He pauses for a moment to watch. Magic seems to come as naturally to Merlin as breathing. It flows from him in warm currents that even Arthur can feel if he knows to look for it. Like Merlin himself, the magic is strange but compelling.

“You should really lock the door if you’re going to be doing that.” Arthur says conversationally.

Merlin startles, and swears as his hand slips on the blade and cuts his thumb. The broom, boots, and brush clatter to the floor, and Merlin sends Arthur a wounded look.

“Don’t scare me like that.” Merlin snaps, shoving the pad of his thumb into his mouth in order to nurse the cut.

“These are my chambers, Merlin. I can burst in if I like.” Arthur teases, dropping into the spare seat.

Merlin rolls his eyes, and kicks at Arthur’s shin. The action intensifies the warmth he carries in his chest whenever he’s near Merlin.

“You have worried face,” Merlin announces as he removes his thumb from his mouth, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know if I’m worried. There’s just…” he trails off, trying to find the best way to phrase it.

“Is this about Nimueh?”

“So you’ve noticed?” Arthur asks.

Merlin shrugs one shoulder, “She keeps staring at me. Do you think she knows about my magic?”

Arthur scrubs a hand over his face and shakes his head, “For both our sake’s, I hope the answer is no. She’s been trying to gain more standing in court for ages. I don’t know what she would do if she could hold this against us.”

Merlin nods, falling silent. His gaze is far away, and the sun illuminates his face in an otherworldly light. When Arthur had first met him, it had seemed impossible Merlin of all people could possibly have magic. Now that Arthur is paying attention, however, there’s something about the way the light strikes Merlin or he carries himself that is an easy tip off.

“Does that mean I should stop enchanting your sword and armor?” Merlin asks finally.

“You’ve been enchanting my armor?” Arthur shouts.

Merlin grins unrepentantly, “You’re the one that insists on riding out and fighting bandits every other week. I feel better knowing that their swords are going to have a harder time finding their target.”

*

Merlin knows there’s something off about Sofia from the beginning. Okay, maybe not from the beginning. At first she and her father seem like a perfectly normal pair. The strangeness can be written off as trauma from being attacked, losing their home, and being attacked again.

He starts to be suspicious when Arthur calls off from his duties. He’s never done so in the past, and Sofia seems a little too eager to have him upset his father. Even then Merlin can write it off as young love. Then it happens again, and Merlin gets more confused. He might also be a tad bitter from ending up in the stocks.

His suspicions grow when Morgana finds him Gaius’s chambers. Her eyes are wide and panicked, he skin is paler than he’s ever seen it. She’s trembling from head to toe when he offers her a seat.

“I’ve seen her before, Merlin. I know it. She’s going to kill Arthur.” She says it with such belief that it takes Merlin’s breath away.

“What exactly did you see?” he asks, taking her hands in his.

Her eyes tear up, but strangely her shoulders slump with relief. No doubt she was worried Merlin wouldn’t believe her. The candle-light casts flickering shadows across her face, making her appear gaunt and haunted.

“Arthur was in a lake. He was drowning,” Morgana’s voice cracks a little and Merlin squeezes her hands. “Sofia was standing over him.”

“I don’t trust her either.” Merlin admits.

“What’s happening to me, Merlin?” she asks. He’s never seen Morgana afraid. She’s always seemed strong, in control, brave, if a little conniving. He doesn’t like to see her rattled so.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

“How? What can _you_ do?”

“Gaius has a stack of books taller than me, and I have magic. That’s gotta give us somewhere to start.” Merlin answers, “Leave Sofia to me.”

Gaius confirms their suspicions when he finds the staff in Sofia’s Father’s room. After that the situation gets out of hand, as it usually does at the point when Merlin starts to unravel another plot against Arthur’s life. 

Merlin’s head pounds something fierce when he comes to, and his vision is blurry. There’s no time to deal with it though because he has to go save Arthur’s life again. His chest aches even before the long run to the lake. He probably cracked a rib or two when he took the brunt of the blast from the damn staff. 

He’s grabbing Sofia’s staff, killing her father, killing her, and diving in after Arthur. Dragging him back out of the lake is far trickier because the ass just had to wear his chainmail to his own ‘wedding’. 

It feels a bit like Gedref. Once again he’s waiting for Arthur to come to. The steady rise and fall of his chest is the only indication that he’s okay. 

Arthur’s hair is plastered to his forehead, and wet it almost looks brown. Unable to stop himself, Merlin reaches out and pushes some of the longer strands out of Arthur’s face. There are moments when Arthur is so peaceful, Merlin’s heart aches. Arthur spends his days in a flurry of movement, unable to sit still for long. When he runs out of things to do, he finds a way to fill the time, usually by scheming ways to torture Merlin.

Arthur is really only still when he’s unconscious. Generally, Merlin prefers to have these still moments when Arthur is sleeping peacefully instead of magically incapacitated, but he’ll take it when he can.

He’s long since stopped wishing Gaius lived in Lothian. If Gaius lived in Lothian, Merlin would never have met Arthur. He doesn’t much like considering that possibility.

He conjures a ball of fire, cradling it in his hands. The heat from the flames seep into his clothes, slowly drying them. Arthur comes to when their clothes have become damp instead of soaking. He groans loudly, clutching at his head.

“Nice nap?” Merlin asks mildly.

Arthur glares at him from under his eyelashes, “What happened?”

“Oh. Sofia was a sidhe. Was going to sacrifice you to gain immortality.”

“And you saved me?”

“You really have to stop making this a habit. I got a concussion this time.” Merlin says and stands up. He holds his hand out to Arthur. Arthur takes it and leavers himself to his feet. Then he yanks Merlin close so he can glare menacingly right into Merlin’s face.

“No one can know about this.” Arthur growls.

Merlin grins and resists the urge to annoy Arthur further by patting his cheek. Instead he just nods and tries to look serious. He must not succeed because Arthur shakes his head, muttering something about a lost cause.

A week passes with no mention of the Sofia incident. Merlin is hauling Arthur’s laundry down the stairs when a door opens. He nearly walks into it, vision obscured by Arthur’s purple tunic. He manages to recover without having to use magic to prevent things from spilling, which ends up being a very lucky break indeed.

Queen Ygraine is standing in the doorway, watching with no small amount of amusement. It strikes him again just how much Arthur looks like his mother.

“Merlin, isn’t it?” she asks with a little smile.

“Yes, your majesty.” Merlin answers, struggling to keep the basket balance.

“Set that down a moment.” She instructs and steps back inside the chambers she just emerged from.

Merlin does as told. He can’t exactly say no to the Queen. Besides, he’s curious. He didn’t think Arthur’s parents even really remembered he existed. He follows her, and she waves a regal hand indicating that he should close the door.

“Arthur tells me most everything.” She says like Merlin should know what she’s talking about.

“He’s mentioned that you are close, your majesty.” 

“I wanted to thank you for saving my son.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, “You already gave me thanks enough when The King made me a manservant.”

“That is not the incident to which I was referring.”

“Oh! I—That is…” Merlin stumbles, trying to slot together the contradicting facts. The Queen knows he has magic. His head is still attached to his body.

She smiles gently again, and cups Merlin’s cheek. Merlin is reminded so strongly of his own mother that he feels homesick for the briefest of moments. “It’s alright. I have no intention of telling my husband. He is a good man, but his world view is rather black and white. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him. Arthur is very lucky to have you, Merlin.”

Merlin’s mouth twists up into a rueful smile, “I’m lucky to have him.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Queen Ygraine says cryptically and removes her hand from Merlin’s cheek, “You may continue with your chores now. I’ve kept you too long.”

Merlin practically flees from the room.

Merlin practically flees from the room.

*

Arthur is used to Merlin barging into his room unannounced. It’s gotten to a point where he can almost sense it when Merlin is headed his way. Today is no different. Arthur can hear the footsteps coming from several chambers away, so he doesn’t glance up from the documents his father has given him when his door is thrown open unceremoniously.

“Good of you to join us, Merlin. I thought Gaius would keep you for a bit longer.” He says, still not looking up.

“Arthur…” That isn’t right. That tone of voice means trouble is afoot. He’d heard that tone of voice when Merlin came to announce Valiant, and again when he tried to warn against Sofia.

Arthur’s head jerks up, and he fixes his eyes on Merlin. He looks flushed, like he ran the whole way. His eyebrows are pinched, concerned.

“What’s happened?” Arthur asks, raising from his chair.

Merlin takes a few hesitant steps further into the room, “I need to ask you a favor, and remember that you still owe me for all the times I saved your life.”

Arthur steps around the table, resting his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. This is serious. Merlin has never sought credit for his exploits, always perfectly to bask in the joy of a job well-done.

“If it is in my power to grant it, I will.” Arthur promises.

“I need an audience with the King.” Merlin blurts out.

Arthur cocks his head, puzzled, “Why on earth do _you_ need an audience with the King?”

“It’s my mother. Our village was attacked. She has nowhere else to turn.” Merlin says, gripping Arthur’s wrists, “Please, Arthur. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Arthur nods, “I know. Go find your mother, I’ll talk to my father.”

Merlin grins that ridiculous huge grin that lights up his whole face, and nods, “Thanks.”

Then he’s gone just ask quickly as he came. The door swings closed behind him with a distinctive thud that echoes down the stone hallway outside. Clumsy on the best of days. Arthur shakes his head. The amount of trouble he gets into for his friend.

He shuffles the documents into some semblance of order, and locks them away in a drawer. He knows better than to leave matters of court out where anyone can see them. The last thing he needs is a maid coming in and deciding to improve her lot in life by trading information to the enemy.

Once that’s done he leaves his chambers and begins the climb to his parents’ chambers. It is just passed midday so they should be taking their usual luncheon together. Arthur doesn’t run there, that would be un-princely. He simply… hurries. Yes, that’s it. He walks with some haste. He knocks on the door to their chambers, and is met a moment later by his father’s voice beckoning him in.

“Arthur,” his mother says with a warm smile, “I wasn’t expecting you. What a nice surprise!”

Arthur smiles, pauses by her chair, and kisses her cheek. She pats his cheek fondly and rubs a smudge from his cheek. He should be embarrassed by it, but really he can’t bring himself to be. With his duties at court weighing on him more and more, it is nice to have one person who sees him as more than a prince. Or... two people really. Merlin has never treated him with the respect befitting his station.

He turns to his father then. The only time the coldness in his eyes fades is in moments like this. It’s like Arthur’s mother has a way of softening him, reminding him just to be a man and not a king. His gaze on her is always unbearably fond when it lands on her.

“Father, I had a request.” Arthur announces.

His father frowns a bit, sitting back in his dining chair like it’s his throne, “What is it?”

“I had someone come to me asking for an audience with you. I was hoping you would take it.”

“What does it concern?”

“An attack on a village,” Arthur answers, “I swear I would not ask if I did not think the situation was truly desperate.”

“Oh, just listen to their request,” his mother says softly, squeezing his father’s hand, “No harm can come of just listening.”

His father considers her words for a moment, then looks back to Arthur. He nods once.

“Very well. They can petition before the official court business begins today.”

Arthur grins, “Thank you, Father.”

He drops another kiss on his mother’s cheek before he leaves, soaking up just a bit of warmth. He closes the door behind him on the way out and hurries to find Merlin. He goes straight to Gaius’s chambers, barely slowing to exchange words with some of the knights who corner him to ask questions about training.

When he arrives he finds Merlin sitting at Gaius’s work table. A woman sits in front of him, her voice low and soothing. Merlin is dabbing at her cheek with something that smells like the medicinal salve Gaius uses for the bruises the knights receive in training. Arthur clears his throat softly, not wanting to interrupt the moment.

Merlin’s head picks up, and the woman turns to look over her shoulder. She must be Merlin’s mother. They look very similar. He has her eyes, and cheekbones. He must get the ears from his father then.

“What did the King say?” Merlin asks immediately.

The woman’s eyes widen as she realizes who she must be talking to, and she jumps to her feet in order to drop a rather awkward curtsy.

“Prince Arthur, thank you for any help that you provided.” she says and glances at Merlin. She jerks her head at Merlin like she’s trying to get him to bow.

“I see him at least twenty times a day, if I bowed every time I saw him then I’d throw my back out.” Merlin says, ignoring the chiding look she sends him, “What did he say?”

“Your mother is welcome to petition before official court business begins for the day. He’s agreed to listen at the very least.”

“Thank you.” Merlin says with obvious relief.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Merlin?” Arthur teases, raising his eyebrows.

“Right! Mother, this is Arthur. Arthur, this my Mother.” Merlin says, gesturing between them.

Arthur steps forward, takes her hand, and presses a kiss to her knuckles like he would were she a proper lady of the court. If his father saw, he’d have a fit, but this is Merlin’s mother. He wants to make a good impression on her, for Merlin’s sake. She laughs softly and pats his cheek much like his own mother does.

“Call me Hunith.” 

“Hunith.” Arthur agrees.

*

He watches Morgana, Gwen, Hunith, and Merlin ride out with no small amount of guilt twisting in his gut. For all the times Merlin has been there for him, he knows he should step up in return, but his father had stopped him just short of locking him in his chambers. It’s a wonder Morgana was able to sneak out at all.

He goes about his normal routine; afternoon training with the knights, dinner with his parents where they all pretend Morgana has just taken ill and isn’t riding out to certain death. He returns to his chambers, and paces like a madman. He’s so used to Merlin helping him to settle in for the evening that it just adds to the wrongness of the situation. He should be there.

“Arthur,” his mother asks, poking her head around the door, “Can I come in?”

Arthur nods and she steps inside, closing the door behind her. She approaches him, catches him by his shoulders to stop his frantic pacing, and cups his cheek. She looks at him with fond exasperation.

“You’re worried about your friend.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I feel like a coward staying here while he risks his life.” Arthur admits.

“Then go.”

“What?”

His mother laughs and shakes her head, “Oh Arthur. Go after him. You are of no use here.”

“But father…” he starts protest, but she cuts him off.

“Go. Leave your father to me. It is the honorable thing to do, being loyal to someone who is loyal to you. He’s been good for you.” 

“What do you mean?” Arthur frowns.

“Your father is a good man, but he is hard. You have become more and more like him these last few years, but when Merlin arrived… He brings something out in you. He makes you a better man, and I think with him by your side you will grow to be an even better man than your father. Go after him.”

Several hours later, Merlin almost decapitates him with a sword. It feels like reality has reasserted itself.

*

Arthur hates Will. He can’t explain why, exactly. Will is stubborn, angry, loud-mouthed, and opinionated. He tries to undermine every plan Arthur proposes. All of these are valid reasons to hate him.

None of those things are what make him clench his teeth. None of those things are what causes his ears to ring, or his face to flush. No. t’s when he spots Will and Merlin together that makes him hate Will. It’s their easy camaraderie. Friendship without pretext, without the damn roles of master and servant getting in the way.

Arthur hates Will, but in the end Wil saves his life. It throws such a pall over their victory that Arthur can’t find it in him to be impressed with the insane whirlwind Merlin conjured.

Merlin is tightlipped the whole way home. His eyes are haunted, and he clutches his reins so hard that his knuckles are white. Arthur has to stop himself from reaching over to ease their grip. He hates this; Merlin in pain.

They stop just before nightfall to make camp. They should reach Camelot the next day at their current pace.

“I’ll get firewood.” Merlin says dully. It’s the first sentence he says the whole trip.

The rest of them busy themselves with rolling out bedrolls and digging out the food Hunith packed them for the road. It is well after dark by the time they finish, but Merlin still isn’t back.

Around them night animals wake. Their calls echo through the trees and are made all the more unsettling by a lack of fire.

“Should we look for him?” Gwen asks softly.

“I’ll go.” Arthur says and gets to his feet, “Look after Gwen?”

Morgana nods and draws her sword a little closer.

Arthur steps out among the trees. Moonlight trickles through their branches, barely giving him enough light to see let alone track. If Merlin would just work a bit of magic this would all be a lot easier. Arthur has developed a good deal of skill for feeling the particular tingle of magic being used in his vicinity. The closer the enchantment, the stronger the tingle. His hair had stood on end back in Ealdor when Merlin conjured the wind. The warm currents of magic are easy to follow if you know to look.

Arthur stumbles through the trees, cursing up a storm as branches snag at his face and hair. He trips over a root, staggers against another tree, bounces off of it, and emerges at the bank of a stream. Merlin is there. He’s perched on a rock, a pile of kindling next to him. He stares into the stream unblinking.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks softly. He approaches the rock, hand outstretched like he might try to calm a spooked horse. 

Merlin wipes his hands against his eyes, dashing away the tears. He turns to look at Arthur and offers a tremulous smile, “Sorry. Guess I got a bit distracted.”

Arthur opens his mouth to retort. _What else is new?_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he stops himself. This is not the time for jokes. Morgana has accused him of having the emotional capacity of a turnip, but even he knows not to be an ass now.

“Can I sit?” he asks.

Merlin nods jerkily, and shuffles a little to make room on his rock. Arthur climbs up next to him and they sit in silence for several minutes.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asks when he can’t stand it anymore.

“It’s my fault he’s dead.” Merlin says, then presses his lips tightly together again.

Awkwardly, Arthur reaches out and squeezes Merlin’s shoulder. 

“How do you figure?”

“I should have been faster. I have magic! I should have been able to save him! I should have healed him! I should... I should…” Merlin’s voice cracks, and he wipes away a fresh set of tears.

“Merlin, have you ever healed someone before?” Arthur asks gently.

Merlin shakes his head.

“Did you see the arrow coming like when you saved me?”

Again Merlin shakes his head.

“Then there was nothing more you could do.” Arthur says, and Merlin doesn’t seem convinced.

“I keep losing people.”

“Who else have you lost?” Arthur prompts gently.

“I never got to meet my father. He died fighting for Cenred, and all I had was Will and my mother. Now Will is gone too.”

“Will died with honor, and I will never forget that. When I am king, I swear I will honor the sacrifice he made.”

“How?” Merlin asks bitterly.

“I’ll have his name added to the monument that stands for the knights who gave up their lives in service to the crown. He’ll be Sir William of Ealdor.”

“He would hate that.” Merlin says with a wet laugh.

“Perfect. Seems like you two enjoyed teasing each other just as much as we do.” Arthur points out.

Merlin cracks a small smile, and Arthur’s heart leaps on his chest.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur inclines his head and they fall into a more comfortable silence than before. He feels Merlin’s eyes on him, but he holds off the inevitable as long as possible. When he can’t stand it any longer, he turns his head.

“You’re thinking and we all know how that turns out.”

The corners of Merlin’s mouth tilt up. Arthur’s heart jumps.

“Why did you come? You never said.”

“I couldn’t let my friend go to his death without me there.” Arthur says, “And my mother may have told me to go after you.”

“The Queen told you to come?”

“She has this idea that you make me a better person somehow.” Arthur answers with a derisive snort.

“Funny,” Merlin muses, “My mother said the same thing about you.”

“Mothers get funny ideas, sometimes.”

Merlin hums in acknowledgement, but continues to stare at Arthur. In the moonlight Merlin looks otherworldly, but not in the same way he’d looked in Arthur’s chambers the afternoon they discussed Nimueh. Then he’d looked strong, sure, annoyed. Now he seems fleeting, like a trick of the light, like he might fade if Arthur glances away. He’s looking at Arthur, considering.

“You know what else Will would hate?” he asks.

“What’s that?”

“This.”

Then Merlin is lunging forward, his mouth pressing against Arthur’s. It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, but not painful. Arthur’s entire being hums, and he wonders if this what Merlin feels like casting magic. It feels warm, and bright, and right.

Merlin pulls back a moment later, still looking a bit haunted, but not as dire as before. He shoots Arthur another little half smile.

“We should get back to camp.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana has a vision, Arthur get bitten, and the people who love him try to find a way to save him.

The woods are misty. The damp sinks into Merlin’s trousers and jacket as he troops behind Arthur. No matter how long he spends by Arthur’s side, nor how many hunts he goes on in that time, Merlin is certain he’s never going to enjoy hunting. He’s not against hunting as a general rule. There had to be a way to get meat in Ealdor to make up for the lack of any animal larger than a goat, but that had been for food and tools. Arthur’s need to traipse off into the forest and kill things is almost disturbing.

All around them the knights crunch through the underbrush, red capes dragging behind them thanks to the damp. Normally they look a lot more imposing and regal. It’s all billowing red fabric and shiny armor. It’s almost funny to see the vision so spectacularly ruined.

They creep up to a clearing, still partially hidden by the trees and shrubs in front of them. In the distance they can hear the chattering and rumbling of some great creature. Something about the noises sets him on edge, and he fumbles when handing Arthur his spear.

“Do you have any natural gifts, Merlin?” Arthur asks in an undertone.

Merlin tightens his lips in Arthur’s direction, giving him a disapproving glance. Arthur has a soft center, Merlin has seen it for himself on numerous occasions, but put him back with his knights and suddenly he turns into the biggest ass in the five kingdoms.

“No. Let me think,” Merlin says as he prepares his insult, “I’m not naturally rude or insensitive.”

The knights all politely pretend that they haven’t heard their banter. Merlin has received more than one look from them in his time as Arthur’s manservant. No doubt they wonder how he manages to get away with being completely irreverent with the crown prince without getting thrown in the stocks.

“Just naturally irritating.” Arthur replies, and starts leading the group into the clearing.

The animal lets out another unnatural growl, and the hair on the back of Merlin’s neck stands on end. There’s something not right about it. Arthur clearly doesn’t seem to sense it because he turns and grudgingly assures ‘It’s more scared of you than you are of it’. Merlin can though. Maybe it’s thanks to his magic, but there’s something deeply _wrong_ about that noise.

He’s never been more unhappy to be proven right when a great monster comes charging around the corner. Arthur, displaying some common sense for once, drops his spear and leads the whole group in a hasty retreat. It still ends with Sir Bedivere’s death.

The council chambers are appropriately dark when they bring the news to Uther. Gaius gives them all a warning about The Questing Beast. A collective shiver travels through everyone present.

“No matter what it is, it has people panicking. They’re scared it’s going to enter the city.” Arthur informs Uther.

Merlin may not have the gifts of a seer –he’s happy to leave that to Morgana considering how panicked she gets most nights lately—but he can see what is going to happen like he’s reading a book. Stupid noble arrogant ass. Of course Uther sends Arthur out after it despite the protests of Queen Ygraine, Nimueh, and Gaius. He’s so focused on stopping it he doesn’t stop to think about putting his own son in danger, and Arthur is too desperate to prove himself to delegate the task to anyone else.

Merlin already knows he’s going to have to step in and kill thing himself. He does not need the extra stress of Gaius’s warning.

The next morning dawns just as cold and misty as the one before it. He could almost pretend that they were riding out on another run of the mill hunting trip except for the attitude of the knights. They’re too quiet.

Then there’s shrieking, and suddenly Morgana appears on the steps of the castle. She’s still in her nightgown, her feet are bare, her hair is wild, and she hasn’t stopped to throw on a fur. She has that wild eyed look that Merlin and Gwen have gotten used to seeing since the Sofia incident.

The second she proclaims she’s seen terrible things and that Arthur can’t face the beast, Merlin’s heart drops. He wishes desperately that Morgana had been willing to tell Arthur about her gifts, but she claimed h=she wasn’t ready for him to know. Now would have been the perfect time for Arthur to know her panic is not unfounded.

Even as he’s promising to keep Arthur safe, she continues to fight him. Then with sudden clarity, she clutches Merlin’s arms in her hands. Her grip is solid as iron, and she gazes into his eyes, her own wide with certainty and terror.

“If he fights it, we will never be safe.”

Two chilling warnings resting on his shoulders, Merlin turns and rides out with Arthur. He can feel the truth to Morgana’s words in his gut. Everything is about to change.  
*

Merlin should have expected this. Arthur is lying too still on the floor of the cave. There’s barely any breath being dragged into his lungs.

_One bite and you’re dead_

Rules be damned. He doesn’t care that Uther will have his head for working magic inside the castle. Arthur is dying and Merlin can’t let that happen. He refuses to let that happen.

“We haven’t done all we’re meant to.” He tells Gaius.

He’s only kissed Arthur twice since that time in the woods outside of Ealdor. He’d seen more stolen moments between them in the future. More time to form their bond into something unbreakable. He couldn’t wait for Arthur to step out of the shadow of his father and be the great king Merlin can sense inside.

“That is the lament of all men.” Gaius says wearily.

“He’s my friend.” Merlin replies even though friend doesn’t come close to covering what Arthur means to him.

Gaius must sense something like that because he too throws caution to the wind. He’s able to stabilize Arthur’s condition by the time Uther, Queen Ygraine, and Nimueh come pouring into Gaius’s chambers.

Merlin has never seen Uther so emotional. He takes one look at Arthur and his face crumples. He falls to his knees, clutching at Arthur’s hand and sobbing. Queen Ygraine is pale with shock. Nimueh is calm as she conducts her examination with Gaius.

“He’s stable,” she announces, flashing another one of those calculating looks at Merlin. He doesn’t even care if she rats him out. It will have been worth it to give Arthur a fighting chance, “But he will die.”

The screams of pain torn from both Queen Ygraine, and Uther echo off the castle walls. They can probably heard the whole kingdom over. Merlin wishes he could scream in pain too.

*

Arthur is laying peacefully in his bed, or at least Merlin thinks he is. Is it possible to lay peacefully while you’re slowly dying?

Absently, Merlin notices the rumbling in his own stomach, but he ignores it. He can’t bring himself to go down to the kitchens and leave Arthur here. The stack of books Gaius provided him towers high above his head on the table, and the ones he’s already read through are scattered haphazardly. There has to be a spell somewhere that can bring Arthur back.

There’s a small voice at the back of his head that points out, traitorously, that if fully trained High Priestess Nimueh can’t seem to fix the problem, then there’s no way Merlin can hope to do it. No matter what Gaius said about the impossibility of being born with magic. Merlin figures if Arthur is allowed to disregard practical advice, then he is as well.

The door creaks open, and Gwen steps inside. She’s carrying a tray with her. She spares a glance at the bed, taking in Arthur laying stone still. She lets out a little sigh through her nose and joins Merlin at the table.

“I brought you some food.” She says softly.

“Thanks, Gwen.” Merlin spares her a grateful smile and returns his attention to the page in front of him.

“Take a break, Merlin.” She says firmly, and places her hand down on the page so he can’t keep reading.

“But he needs me.” Merlin protests.

She raises her eyebrows at him, pressing her lips together with a tilt of her head, “It can wait long enough for you to eat. You won’t do Arthur any good if you pass out from hunger.”

Merlin opens his mouth to protest again but his stomach rumbles. He decides it’s not worth the advice and digs into the food that Gwen brought. She could be feeding him horse dung for all he can taste through the tight fear in his stomach. 

“You know, if the King comes in and sees these books he’s going to ask questions.” Gwen says softly.

“I’ll tell him I’m doing research for Nimueh.” Merlin says around a mouthful of bread.

“And if he decides that’s not a good excuse?”

“I’ll tell him he can kill me after I heal Arthur.”

Gwen sighs and cups his cheek gently. Her thumb sweeps soothingly along his chin. They’ve grown closer these last few months. The late nights trying to help morgana with her visions have formed a bond between all three of them. He’s grateful that she’s here. They get into trouble together but Gwen is also far more level headed than him. Or Morgana. Or Arthur.

“He’s lucky to have you.” She says softly.

“Not if he dies.”

“That won’t be on you. He chose to go after that beast despite Morgana, his mother, and Nimueh all telling him it was a bad idea.”

It doesn’t make him feel all that much better no matter how true it is. 

Queen Ygraine makes it a habit to stop by every day. Oddly enough, her gaze always falls on Merlin first. Her sad blue eyes track his expression each morning, and each night. He realizes that she’s hoping he pulls off the impossible. He’s saved Arthur’s life so many times before that she hopes he can do it again.

After the third day of disappointing her, he takes to hiding behind Arthur’s dressing screen when she comes to visit. He can’t bear to look her in the eyes and once again tell her he failed. He wishes she would get angry with him. At least then he’d been on even ground. Instead her eyes just fill with understanding, and Merlin hates that it makes guilt climb up the back of his throat.

A week goes by with no change. None of the spells he tries work. He can feel the magic leave his body but it’s like it slips over Arthur and slide off. There’s an invisible barrier in his path that he just can’t get around.

The door creaks open, and Queen Ygraine enters. She’s a little early for her evening visit and Merlin hadn’t been prepared to dive behind the screen. He scrambles to his feet, preparing to do so now that she’s here, but she holds a hand out to him. 

“Wait, Merlin. I wanted to speak to you.”

Merlin stops in his tracks, still clutching his book to his chest.

“What did you need, your majesty?” he asks, giving the title more respect than he’s ever given to Arthur. He deserves it more than him anyway.

“You are very loyal to my son.” She says.

“I care for him a great deal.” Merlin admits and Ygraine smiles sadly.

“And he you.” She agrees and steps right up to Merlin. She presses something into his hand. “When he wakes, will you make sure he gets this?”

Merlin glances down at his palm. He’s holding the Queen’s ring. Arthur had mentioned once that it had been passed down from his grandmother to his mother. He’d hoped to get to wear it one day.

“I don’t understand.” Merlin says, but he has that same feeling in his gut that he did when they rode out to face the questing beast in the first place.

“He will need you in the times to come.” The queen says gently, “Keep him safe. Try not to let him turn out too much like his father.”

“I… Are you planning something?” he asks, heart pounding.

“Leave us, Merlin. I would like some time alone with my son.” She orders and Merlin has no choice nut to leave.

He waits outside in the hall. The only reason his ear isn’t pressed to the door is because the guards tell him it’s impolite to eavesdrop. He paces anxiously in front of Arthur’s door, chewing on his thumbnail. One guard snaps at him to stop pacing but Merlin ignores him.

Finally the door opens, and the Queen exits. She offers another grateful, sad smile to Merlin and vanishes up the stairs towards her chambers.

Merlin rushes back inside. Nothing appears to have been changed but he can’t shake the feeling that the Queen was saying goodbye for some reason. He hates this. Uncertainty has never been his strong suit. He sits on the edge of Arthur’s bed, and takes his hand.

“You aren’t going to die.” Merlin says reassuringly, though if he’s trying to reassure Arthur or himself he isn’t sure.

He returns to his spot at the table and picks up where he left off when he was interrupted. Lightning cracks outside, striking so close to the castle Merlin can hear the sizzle of heat as it passes by Arthur’s window. Funny. It was a clear night last time Merlin checked.

Arthur sucks in a shuddering gasp on the bed and sits bolt upright. His eyes land on Merlin, frozen in shock at the table. Merlin hardly dares to breathe, too scared it’s all just a dream.

“What happened?” Arthur demands in his most prattish tone.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks. His voice feels raw.

“Who else would it be, Merlin? What happened?”

“The questing beast,” Merlin chokes out, “It bit you.”

Arthur frowns, shaking his head, “That can’t be possible. I’d be dead.”

“You were. Or were in the process anyway.” Merlin says, crossing the room.

“What changed?” Arthur asks suspiciously.

“I don’t know. The Queen was by an hour ago…” Merlin trails off, the weight of the Queen’s ring heavy in his pocket.

“Merlin. What did she say?” Arthur asks, voice deadly cold.

Merlin digs the ring out of his pocket, and hands it to Arthur, “She wanted you to have this.”

Arthur takes it, holding it between his fingers for a moment. His eyes widen and he dives out of bed.

“No!”

“Arthur…”

“No!” Arthur shouts again and sprints from his room, bare feet slapping the stone. He doesn’t stop to even put a shirt on.

Merlin gives chase. He already knows where Arthur is heading and a small part of him hopes to get there first, like he could shield Arthur from the pain somehow. 

Arthur tears up the stairs, easily outpacing Merlin despite being a dead man moments before. He reaches his parents chambers before Merlin can do anything. He wrenches the door open, and collapses to his knees. 

Merlin can see just beyond Arthur’s shoulder. Uther is cradling Queen Ygraine in his lap, his face even more crumpled than when he’d seen Arthur. Nimueh stands to the side, face stony. Merlin can feel the last of the spell ebbing away into the air.

“Guards!” Uther screams, and at least ten men buffet Merlin to the side on their way in. “Take her away.” He points stiff armed at Nimueh.

She does not fight as she is dragged away. She turns her head as they pass Merlin and she makes eye contact with him. Her faces shifts, not quite a smirk, but something close.

Arthur is alive. The Queen is dead. Long Live the Queen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uther sentences Nimueh, Arthur and Merlin have a row, and Nimueh says something vague about destiny.

Arthur can’t sleep. He can’t eat. He’s lethargic at best in training. His knights have never landed so many blows, even when Arthur was still green in his training.

There’s nothing for it though. Any time he closes his eyes he sees his Mother’s body. Unresponsive, but still so so warm. Or he is treated to the vision of Merlin’s face. The dawning comprehension, the sympathy.

When he tries to eat all he can think is that there’s never going to be another meal with her. No gentle pats on his hand when he enters the room. No amused, calm voice to intercede when Morgana and he wind each other up over a plate of chicken.

She’s gone.

In the darker moments, he’s angry. It wracks his body, sends his heart pounding against his ribs. The target of his anger switches from night to night, moment to moment. He blames his father. After all, he’d have to be the one to cook up a scheme like this, and if it was his idea then he should have died in her stead. He blames Nimueh. She was the one to cast the spell. Even if it was King’s orders, she should have refused. Should have lied and claimed that she didn’t have the power. It’s not like Arthur’s life was worth more than his Mother’s. His father doesn’t need an heir. He could have passed it on to Morgana.

In the darkest moments when no one is around him, when Merlin has long since blown out the candle, Arthur blames his Mother. She must have known what could happen. After all she passed on the message to Merlin, along with her ring. She had wanted to make sure Arthur got it. She didn’t want to be buried with it like his father no doubt would have done. She chose to give up her own life if that was what it took, and Arthur selfishly hates her for it.

Mostly though, he blames himself. He was the one that went riding out into danger despite everyone’s warnings. He was the one who had to go and get attacked by the fucking Questing Beast. (He still doesn’t know how it was defeated, and he suspects Merlin might have had a hand in it, and maybe he blames Merlin just a little too for not being quick enough). He was the one who lay dying, and forced her to make that choice.

Merlin arrives the morning of the funeral, solemn and quiet like he’s been for days. He keeps shooting Arthur side-long glances like he might explode or dissolve into a puddle of tears. It doesn’t improve Arthur’s mood.

They still haven’t talked about what happened after Ealdor. He hasn’t had a chance to ask if the kiss meant something or if it was simply an expression of Merlin’s grief. They had been thrown back into duties the second they returned, and then… Well all of this.

Now it feels like wrong to care. Wrong to even entertain the idea of a romantic entanglement. Wrong to seek joy when his Mother isn’t even interred. 

Merlin’s fingers smooth out some of the wrinkles in Arthur’s tunic, lingering just a little as if offering him strength. He would tell him to knock it off, but he needs it. He needs every bit of strength he can get to get through the next few hours. 

He can’t fathom trying to put on a brave face, and light a funeral pyre. He can’t fathom looking into his Uncle’s face and trying to acknowledge his grief when his own is still so fresh.

So even though a part of him wants to yell, and throw Merlin clear across the room, he doesn’t. He takes the movement for what it is, a declaration of affection. Whether it is purely friendship or if there’s something deeper at play can wait until Arthur doesn’t want to burn the world down.

Merlin places Arthur’s circlet on his head, then drops his hand to Arthur’s shoulder. He gives it one good squeeze, then releases. They don’t need to exchange any words. Arthur nods his thanks, and one corner of Merlin’s mouth quirks up in a sad but comforting smile.

It settles some of the terror in Arthur’s chest. He squares his shoulders, and strides from his rooms. The servants give him a wide berth and duck their heads as he passes. They’re all trying to share his grief with him and it makes that roaring anger return.

None of them knew her, not really. Most of them probably never even met her. It feels cruel, even mocking for them to be sad in this moment. He takes a deep breath and clings to the strength Merlin tried to provide.

The courtyard is not filled with people like it is during an announcement, or the rare execution. The knights pack in around the edges, standing vigil and keeping any voyeurs away. Distant family of hers stands around the perimeter, hanging back to allow those most affected by the grief to stand closest to the pyre. Arthur spots Morgana among them, and has another spike of anger shoot through his stomach.

Morgana might have only been half his sister by blood, but she may as well be fully his flesh and blood. Morgana never met her mother, and Gorlois died when she wasn’t older then ten. The scandal of her conception couldn’t stay hidden then, and Ygraine could have sent her away, forced Uther to send her to a distant relative. She would have been well within her rights to claim it brought shame to bring a royal bastard into her home. She could have grown capricious, and tried to favor Arthur. Instead she took Morgana under her wing, and cared for her like a daughter. Ygraine had become Morgana’s mother in all but name, and Morgana deserves to be here with them. Propriety shouldn’t matter in death, not when this much love is involved.

Arthur accepts the torch he is passed, doing his best to remain stony faced in the face of this. He keeps his jaw set as he approaches the pyre, but tries not to look too closely. He touches the flames to the dry wood, just as his Uncle and his father do on either side of him, and the pyre crackles to life. The fire leaps to life, and flames shoot into the air.

If a few hot tears splash on his cheeks, he can’t be blamed.

When he returns to his chambers that evening, his throat feels tight. He hasn’t spoken all day. He has never been more grateful for his father’s need to be the center of attention. He was the one who took over the eulogy as her ashes were put into the crypt far below the castle. It still grated that he pretended he was the only one in pain, like people hadn’t lost a mother-sister-cousin-friend. Arthur knows, though, that had he tried to speak he would have lost any semblance of composure. 

He’s always hated that damn crypt and he hates it more now. She shouldn’t be locked away in the dark and dust. She deserved to be in the light, where sun could warm her, and flowers could grow to mark her passing. She would have liked to be buried in the little garden off the south courtyard, Arthur just knows it.

He collapses on the edge of his bed, gazing at nothing.

His door opens moments later, and he startles. The sun has continued its journey across the sky in his contemplation. When he turns his head, Merlin is standing there. He has a tray balanced on his hands. 

“Cook is going to kill me.” He announces and it’s enough to make Arthur smile a little, for the first time in days.

“What did you do now, Merlin?” Arthur croaks, voice strained from disuse.

Merlin sets the tray down on the table, and regards it proudly, “I stole some of those sticky buns you like. She’s been cooking up a storm in preparation for Beltane, but I thought you could use them more than any of the stuffy nobles that’ll show up.”

Arthur huffs a little laugh, even as tears spring into his eyes. She would have liked Merlin. She did. She said so, in not quite those exact words, when she encouraged him to run off to Ealdor despite knowing his father would be furious.

“Thank you, Merlin.” He says weakly, and takes a bite out of one even though he’s not particularly hungry.

Merlin shoots him the same smile from that morning, and sits silently with Arthur until he’s finished the entire tray of sticky buns. Perhaps he was hungrier than he thought. 

Then he ushers Arthur out of his seat, and helps him get ready for bed. The night lacks their usual banter, and Arthur is grateful for it. He doesn’t have it in him. Merlin practically manhandles him into bed, and then tugs the covers up around Arthur like he’s a child. It makes him miss her so painfully he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep himself from crying all over Merlin.

“I’m tired. Think I’m just going to crash in one of the chairs tonight.” 

Arthur hears the message underneath Merlin’s words. _I’m here if you need me. You aren’t alone._

Sure enough, Merlin digs one of the spare blankets out of the trunk at the foot of the bed, and settles into a chair in front of the fire place. He’s going to wake up with a crick in his neck the next morning. Arthur has accidentally fallen asleep there enough times to know. He also knows that he won’t hear a word of complaint from Merlin about it. He’s so unbelievably grateful he can’t breathe.

*

One month. He is allowed one month to grieve before his father expects him back in action.

Time has made things… not better, but at least easier. He’s growing used to the ache in his chest whenever he sees the ring on his finger. He’s growing used to eating with Morgana in her chambers, and trying to swap stories without crying. Arthur can tell by her red-rimmed eyes, that Morgana has been taking this as hard as him. It makes the grief easier to bear to have someone else to share it with.

After one month, his father calls off the morning period. He orders the kingdom back into full swing. Arthur still can’t breathe some nights for missing her, but he’s suddenly expected to sit at council meetings again. Absently, he understands that running a kingdom cannot be put on hold, but it feels too soon. It feels like everyone else should be carrying this weight too.

Merlin sleeps in that god-awful chair for nearly a week after Arthur has to go back to his duties. He only stops when Arthur threatens him with a stint in the stocks. He still takes to staying far later than necessary in order to ‘do chores’, and Arthur’s chambers have never been so clean. Arthur is grateful for the loyalty even if he doesn’t know what to do with it.

It’s been six weeks since her death when Arthur enters the council chambers for the private meeting his father called. The usual gaggle of knights that line the room is absent. Several nobles are absent as well, the ones who tend to push back against his father on political matters. It is odd to say the least, but perhaps his father needs the security of confidants as much as Arthur does. 

Arthur takes his position to his father’s left, and stands patiently. When the last noble takes up his position, the guard closes the doors. His father seems to shake himself into action, surfacing from his thoughts with a dramatic sigh.

“We have all been in a period of great transition as of late,” his father says clearly, “and with transition comes uncertainty. I have called this meeting here today to inform you that you do not need to be uncertain about my ability to run my kingdom. No doubt I will mourn this loss for many years to come, but a ruler must be strong.”

A chorus of “Yes, my lord” echoes in the nearly empty hall. 

“I am pleased that you agree, but I wanted to reassure you with action. I have been contemplating what to do with Nimueh. She has, after all, caused the death of the Queen. This cannot be ignored.”

There’s another rumble of agreement.

“I have reached a decision. Nimueh, former court sorceress of Camelot, will be executed at dawn.” his father says with finality.

 _Good,_ Arthur thinks viciously, _She deserves it_

It seems like the council must be thinking along the same lines as Arthur himself, as a general cry of agreement rings through the hall. There are few who cry “hear hear”, others cry “good, my lord.” They hash out the grizzly details of the execution. Then his father dismisses his council for the day. 

Merlin is waiting for him in his chambers when he arrives. He looks paler than Arthur has ever seen him. His hands, that are always busy even hanging at his sides, are crammed into his pockets as though he’s trying to hide the trembling. He’s gazing at Arthur with wide eyes.

“Is everything alright?” Arthur asks, removing his cloak.

“Tell me it’s not true.” Merlin says breathlessly.

“Tell you what’s not true?”

“Tell me you’re not letting your father execute Nimueh.”

That pulls Arthur up short. He turns to Merlin then, a frown creasing his forehead.

“How did you find out about that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Tell me if it’s true.” Merlin insists.

“That was a private council meeting, Merlin, you can’t go around listening in on court secrets.”

“I’m not trying to joke with you,” Merlin snaps, “give me a straight answer.”

Arthur can feel his defenses raising at the tone in Merlin’s voice. It sounds accusing, angry. It doesn’t sound at all like something that belongs coming from Merlin. So he falls back on his best defense, rudeness.

“Not that I owe _you_ an explanation, Merlin,” and boy does he hate how Merlin’s eyes narrow at him, “But yes. She performed magic that lead to a death, therefore she will be executed.”

Merlin shifts away from him then, like Arthur might reach out and attack him, “Your father asked her to do it.”

“She killed my mother,” Arthur reminds him loudly, “A woman who cared for you deeply!”

“I know that!” Merlin shouts, “I know what happened! But out of the two of us, I’m the one with magic, and I can tell you that this kind of magic is notoriously unpredictable and unstable!”

“You said yourself that Nimueh unsettled you!”

“That doesn’t mean she set out to kill your mother! What would that serve her! Nimueh may not have the best of intentions, but I don’t think even _she_ could fully control the outcome of this type of magic! There are few who can, and it’s a debate whether they even actually exist! You can’t execute her for doing what your father told her to do!”

“If my father had been warned of the full extent of the consequences, he would not have gone through with it.” Arthur hisses.

“You don’t know that! None of us can know that!” Merlin shouts back.

“She killed my mother,” Arthur says, making his voice deadly quiet like he’s heard his father do, “Excuse me if I have very little sympathy.”

Merlin, never one to be cowed, stands flinty eyed. Arthur can feel the sparks of Merlin’s magic crackling in the air like it wants to break free from Merlin’s tight control.

“Arthur—” Merlin starts, voice equally as dangerous.

Somehow, it has never occurred to Arthur just how dangerous Merlin is. They’ve spent so much time fighting side by side that it didn’t seem like Merlin could ever be a danger, or at least a danger to Arthur anyway. 

He’s seen, now, how magic can be twisted. How, if Merlin wasn’t on their side, he could be every bit as dangerous as a Questing Beast.

“Get out, Merlin.” Arthur cuts him off before he can finish whatever it is he was going to say.

Merlin’s glare could set Arthur alight. It occurs to him, then, that it may be true in the most literal sense.

Merlin shakes his head, and marches for the door like he’s going into battle. He yanks it open with a vicious tug, and pauses before he steps through. His shoulders drop away from his ears, and he stands straighter than he ever has in Arthur’s presence.

“This is wrong,” he says calmly, “and you know it. That makes you worse than him.”

*

The dungeons are dark and cold when Merlin arrives. A few guards stand in the entryway, gambling over some dice game. None of them notice when Merlin wraps himself in shadows and slips by them.

He doesn’t know the exact cell where Nimueh is being kept, but it’s like her magic is calling to him. He can feel it humming through the air. It is an easy enough trail to follow.

She’s kept at the very end of the cellblock. It’s coldest and darkest here. Damp has started to creep in around the edges. Despite all this, Nimueh sits regally, like the grim can’t touch her. She watches Merlin with those calculating eyes that have always known too much. Her mouth quirks into a small grin when she sees him.

“I hardly expected any visitors, let alone you.” she says, words lilting and sure.

Merlin isn’t sure what he’s doing here. He just couldn’t leave her to fend for herself knowing the execution would be unjust.

“I wanted to check on you.”

Nimueh laughs and stands gracefully, “You were hoping to help me escape.”

Merlin shrugs, “I wasn’t sure what I was hoping.”

“Strange that you should come here despite your indecision.” She remarks.

“I could help you,” Merlin offers, “Together we could go. We could get you out of here. I may not like you but you don’t deserve to die.”

“How brave of you, Merlin.”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I,” Nimueh says firmly, “My Destiny has always been to fall at Uther’s hand. Now I know why.”

“It doesn’t have to be. I know you didn’t mean to kill her.” Merlin says desperately, but Nimueh only laughs.

“I warned him that the cost for a life is a life, but he did not consider it might not be his own. Even if I ran now, he would only track me down. I have signed my own death warrant.”

“But it’s not right.” Merlin protests.

“Destiny is not always what is right, and you will learn that in the time to come.”

“What does that mean?”

That eerie smile returns to her face, and her eyes almost glow. He pink dress is tattered, but it too adds to the gravity of whatever she is about to say. Merlin can feel her words like a physical force in the air, dragging him in so he must listen.

“You are destined to protect Arthur. He is the other side to your coin, and you are meant to do something great together. But, sweet Merlin, there will come a time when you will have to choose between him, and your own people. Choose wisely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying the fic? Want to help a girl out?  
> [ Reblog it on tumblr!](https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/post/623557651574505472/the-lines-are-drawn-chapter-3)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a talk with his Father and then with Merlin, the magic ban is implemented, and Merlin must flee Camelot.

Merlin’s words echo in his mind. _Notoriously unpredictable and unreliable_. _Out of the two of us, I’m the one with magic._

It gives Arthur pause. At the time he was too angry to even consider another point of view. He was, and still is, too caught up in the pain of losing his mother. If anyone else had brought their concerns forward, he probably would have had them executed right along with Nimueh, but it was Merlin. Merlin who’s risked his life time and time again to keep Arthur safe. Merlin who knew Arthur’s moods better than anyone.

Merlin knew Arthur would be prone to anger, he had been for weeks now. Yet he thought it was important enough to barge in in his typically ungainly fashion and shout about it. Merlin has only ever pushed Arthur to be better since he set foot in Camelot. Usually it consisted of affectionate exasperation in forms of nicknames like “prat”. This is the first time he’s truly stood against a decision made by Arthur.

He has a fleeting moment of guilt for contemplating Merlin as a danger. Perhaps he has power, but Arthur would be a fool to think Merlin would use it for anything but protection.

Arthur stands from his table, and slips his blue cloak from the wardrobe. He needs to visit Nimueh. He owes Merlin that much at least.

The guards are laughably easy to slip passed, and he resists the urge to make notes to take to his father. It would only suit to expose Arthur’s late night excursions. He can’t risk that on the eve of an execution. His father is in no mood to grant mercy to anyone, even his son.

Arthur enters the passageway only to duck into a crevice in the stone at the sound of voices. He takes a deep breath, and holds it so he can hear the echo more clearly. He recognizes Nimueh’s laugh, and her cold voice.

“I warned him that the cost for a life is a life, but he did not consider it might not be his own. Even if I ran now, he would only track me down. I have signed my own death warrant.”

It takes him a moment to places the second voice. Merlin. Protesting at the unfairness of it all just like he did in Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur lets out his breath, and frees himself from the crevice. He has gotten the answer he came for anyway. As he is still learning, the truth often lies somewhere in the middle. Nimueh knew the consequences of the spell, but as Merlin said the outcome was unpredictable. His father, however, had been warned of the consequences in advance. 

Arthur isn’t sure he can forgive Nimueh for taking his mother, not when Arthur would have vastly preferred that she live in his stead. Yet, he can’t unleash the churning anger in his gut on her either. It wouldn’t be a just price.

Perhaps there is a middle here as well.

Despite the late hour, and the never ending council meeting he just escaped, Arthur goes to find his father. He swings by his chambers first, and trades the cloak for the Pendragon-red jacket that always seems to bring a glint of something akin to pride in his father’s eyes. Presentation will be half the battle.

He brushes by the guards outside his father’s chambers in favor of knocking on the door himself. When he us bade to enter, he straightens his shoulders and walks with a confidence he does not feel.

There are traces of his mother throughout the room. A nightgown draped over the changing screen, a comb abandoned on the side table, one of her slippers peeking out from his bed. He forces himself not to look at them. The wounds are still too fresh. If he looks, he will crumble.

“Arthur,” his father sounds surprised, “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping to discuss Nimueh’s sentence.” Arthur says, fighting to ignore the racing of his heart.

“Whatever for?”

“I have had some time to read since the meeting ended, and came across some information that I believe should impact our decision.” It isn’t a total lie.

His father’s face darkens, like storm clouds rolling in behind fog. He sits back in his chair and clenches the armrests.

“Go on.”

“It has come to my attention that the kind of magic she used to save my life required a price; a life.” Arthur says carefully, “I have also learned that it is nearly impossible for the wielder of the spell to be able to choose the life that is paid.”

“Are you suggesting we forgive her?” his father asks, cold, “She killed your mother, Arthur. Surely you have not forgotten that.”

“Of course I haven’t,” Arthur says hotly, “I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive her, but it seems unjust to leave her to burn when it was out of her control. Perhaps we can banish her instead. Strip her of her title and her inheritance. Make sure she can never practice near court again.”

“Unthinkable. She committed treason when she took your mother’s life. I will not let it stand.”

“The headman then. Surely that is more fitting than fire.”

It isn’t much but it is a far less painful way to go. It is a mercy, and a suggestion Arthur would never have found himself expressing even a month ago. 

His father stands, moving closer. He leverages the slight height difference between them to try to tower over Arthur, put him in his place. His eyes have never been warm exactly. The rare times Arthur has seen it, it had been directed at his Mother. It turns out there is a difference between coldness and neutrality. Arthur suppresses the shudder that threatens his spine.

“Say one more word about this, and I will banish _you_ and make Morgana my heir. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

Arthur doesn’t flee, that would be undignified, but he does beat a hasty retreat. By the time he gets back to his chambers, it’s long passed dinner time. To his surprise, Merlin is waiting for him. There’s a tray of food waiting on the table.

“Why is your sneak-around cloak out?” Merlin asks as Arthur shuts the door.

Arthur frowns, head jerking back, “My what?”

Merlin gestures at the blue cloak that Arthur had dumped in one of the chairs in his haste.

“You wear this whenever you want to sneak around.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do. You wore it that time we disguised you as Sir William. You wore it when you came with me to Ealdor. Why is it out?”

Arthur sighs and drags a hand through his hair, “I had some sneaking to do.”

“Were you successful?”

“The sneaking, yes,” Arthur says tiredly, “What came after, not so much.”

“What came after?”

“I went to talk to my father about Nimueh.”

“You did?” Merlin’s voice is so high with surprise it nearly cracks.

“I was thinking about what you said, and I went to go talk to Nimueh myself. Seems you beat me to the punch, and don’t think I won’t be devising some clever punishment for trying to break out a prisoner.”

“Arthur”

Arthur waves a hand, effectively cutting off whatever Merlin could say next, “I heard what she said. That she warned my father of the cost of the spell. I can’t forgive her for taking my Mother, just as I would not have forgiven her if it was my father. Still, it did not seem just to burn her.”

“I take it Uther was not pleased.”

“The King, Merlin.” Arthur reminds him.

Merlin shakes his head, straightening the way he did before he stormed out. It’s like he sheds a disguise when he does that, or maybe it’s more like preparing himself to take on the weight of the exchange.

“Uther.” he says firmly, “I think you know I’ve never been loyal to him.”

The implication is that Merlin has only been loyal to Arthur. 

Arthur lets his gaze slide away from Merlin, and collapses onto the chair not occupied by his cloak, “He is set in his ways. He threatened to banish me if I stood against him.”

“At least you tried,” Merlin says softly, “You are a better man than he could ever hope to be.”

Arthur looks up suddenly, taking Merlin in. his hands are clenched at his sides, though the magic is far better contained than it was during their first argument. 

“Merlin, please listen to me,” Arthur says imploringly, “You cannot move against my father.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Merlin’s fists loosen their death grip on the hems of his sleeves.

“But you could.”

Merlin nods.

Arthur lets out a ragged breath, and slumps against the back of the chair, “How powerful are you?”

“I don’t know. Even by sorcerer standards I’m strange.”

“What does that mean?”

“I was born with magic. It’s part of me. Even those who are innately gifted don’t tend to develop their gifts until much later.” Merlin responds, and starts folding Arthur’s cloak for something to do with his hands, “And according to Gaius I learn spells far too quickly.”

“So, powerful.” Arthur summarizes.

“Suppose so.”

“Please be careful. I trust you when you say you won’t move against him, but I don’t know if I can stop him from moving against _you_. Don’t be put in a position where you have to defend yourself.”

Merlin turns to him then. Something unspoken passes between them, and Merlin nods once. Arthur has more or less given him permission to kill anyone trying to hurt him. Whether it be guards, the knights, or the King himself. He can trust Merlin. Merlin is perhaps the only one he can trust.

*

Arthur stumbles through the halls bleary-eyed after Leon. He tugs a jacket on to cover the fact he is still in sleeping trousers and an old tunic so worn with age it is nearly see through. His only comfort is that the other lords will be in similar disarray.

The council chambers are in chaos when he and Leon finally arrive. Lords, grumpy from being woken while there are still several hours before sun up, stand around the table. Their loud complaining fills the room with an unbearable buzz.

At the end of the table, the King stands in wait. He looks annoyingly awake for so late. (Early?) His crown glints in the candle light. His expression gives nothing away.

Chills race down Arthur’s spine. Whatever this meeting is about, it is nothing good.

“Gentleman,” the King calls and it falls silent, “No doubt you are wondering why I called you here at such an ungodly hour. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I’m afraid there was urgent business that couldn’t wait.

“As of an hour ago, I have passed a new law. While I normally would have consulted each of you, I felt I had to keep it secret.”

The implication that he couldn’t trust any of them does not go unnoticed. Several of the lords begin to protest, but he silences them with a flick of his hand.

“A king is nothing without his council, but I did not want outside influence when drafting the bill. I hope I can rely on your continued loyalty as the days progress. I will no doubt need your support when the detractors surface.”

“What is this new law, Sire?” one of the lords asks. Arthur can’t remember his name. A short portly man who rarely speaks up in meetings.

“I have recently learned of the evils of magic first hand. We can no longer stand by and allow ourselves to rely on something so dark and cruel. As of tonight, all magic is banned in Camelot. Any magic users caught within the city by sunup will be arrested and executed for their crimes.”

There’s a roar among the council. Arthur can’t tell if it is for or against the legislation, but it doesn’t matter. The King has signed it into law, and it will stand. There’s only one thought running through his mind. 

Merlin isn’t evil. Merlin could never be evil.

In the confusion he slips from the council chambers, and proceeds as calmly as he can down the hall. He doesn’t want to give the guards any reason to notice him. When he is well shod of them, he breaks into a run. He takes the stairs two at a time, and bursts into Gaius’s chambers so forcefully that the wooden door bangs into the stone wall behind it.

Gaius startles awake, snore cutting off mid-snuffle. He blinks owlishly at Arthur as he crosses the threshold.

“Sire? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Where’s Merlin?” Arthur asks, panic making his voice thready.

“His room. Is something wrong?”

Arthur ignores the question, and hurtles the stairs to Merlin’s room.

*

Merlin is dreaming. He knows it because he’s back in Ealdor, and Will is still alive. The air has that hazy quality it always got in summer. They’re laughing over a handful of pilfered strawberries. It’s nice to be lost in a memory like this.

His dream is interrupted by a heavy hand crashing onto his shoulder. He jumps awake, thrown mercilessly back into reality. His back hits the cold stone of the floor as he tumbles out of bed. He gets his breath back as shirt hits him in the face.

He bats the fabric away from his face and sits up. Arthur is there. Shoulders tense, hauling Merlin’s things out of the cupboard in his room.

“Arthur? What the hell are you doing?”

“You need to leave.” Arthur says frantically, and starts cramming things into the leather pack Merlin used to get to Camelot.

“Is this because I talked to Nimueh? You could have waited until morning to sack me.”

“It’s not about Nimueh. The King passed a new law. Magic is banned on pain of death. You’re not safe.”

Ice floods Merlin’s veins. Morgana’s warning echoes back to him. _If he fights it, we will never be safe._

“He doesn’t know about me.” Merlin points out.

As maddening as Arthur can be, Merlin hates the thought of leaving him. He fits at Arthur’s side better than he’s fit anywhere else in his life. Arthur doesn’t feel like a missing piece because Merlin is a whole person on his own, but Arthur is almost like spice. He makes everything better.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, turning panicked eyes to him, “You already promised you wouldn’t put yourself in a position where you have to defend yourself. Someone is bound to cough you up, especially if pressured by the King. You need to go.”

“But I’m meant to protect _you_.”

“Protect me by leaving. My heart can’t handle the strain of constantly worrying you’ll end up on the pyre. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin starts to protest, but the words dies in his throat. Arthur is pale. The lines around his eyes are more defined. His hair is sticking up at odd angles like he’s been running his hands through it. He is pleading, and desperate. 

“Okay.” Merlin says with a nod, “Okay. I’ll go.”

Arthur’s shoulders sag and he hands Merlin the pack. He disappears down the stairs, muttering something about rations for the road. Merlin changes quickly, and finishes packing all his belongings. He wraps the magic book Gaius gave him carefully in a shirt, and slides it into his pack as well.

When he enters the main chamber below, Gaius is handing Arthur two bags. No doubt one is filled with rations, and the other with any medicine he may need.

Merlin sets his pack on the table, and draws Gaius in for a hug. He’s the closest thing to a father he’s ever had. It’s another reason the idea of leaving Camelot is so painful. He’s leaving Gaius, he’s leaving Gwen, and Morgana. 

His heart clenches at the thought of Morgana. She isn’t safe. He wants to run, drag her off with him, but that would expose her to Arthur. It is better for everyone involved that Arthur not know. He can’t give away Morgana by accident or pressure if he is left in the dark. Just because it’s the right thing, doesn’t mean Merlin has to like it.

“Be safe, my boy.” Gaius says softly.

Merlin nods against Gaius’s shoulder, hiding the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Arthur’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Merlin, we have to go.”

Merlin nods, gives Gaius one last squeeze. Then he shoulders his pack, and follows Arthur from the room. They wind their way through the castle. When they pass a window, Merlin can see the chaos spilling across the city. People are flooding the gates. Trying to escape much like he is.

He doubts Uther gave fair warning. That means there must have been at least one person on the council who didn’t agree with new law. Whoever it is must have gotten word to spread quickly, trying to give magic users a fighting chance to escape execution. Merlin isn’t sure it will do much good. The guards don’t seem to be letting many people out.

Arthur drags him down a set of familiar stairs, and suddenly he knows where they’re going. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s a dead end.

“Why are we going to the armory?” Merlin asks, voice low.

“Secret passage. Leads to a gate outside the lower town. Morgana and I used it for hide and seek when we were little.” Arthur explains.

Neither of them bothered to grab a torch on their way, so they stumble down the stairs into the armory in darkness. The only reason neither of them trip and break their necks is because they’ve been down here so many times.

The moonlight filters in through a window, providing just enough light so they can rush around the racks of weapons. Arthur comes to a stop in front of a shield that’s mounted on a wall. He lifts it down and exposes a little door.

Arthur blanches, and Merlin’s heart races, “What? What’s wrong?”

“I left my keys in my room.” Arthur whispers.

“It’s okay,” Merlin assures him, “I think I can get it to move.”

He stretches out his hand and lets the eddies of magic buffet the lock. He wills the tumblers to move, and with a satisfying click the door swings open.

Arthur breathes a sighs of relief, and shoves Merlin into the passageway beyond. The door swings shut behind them, leaving them in total darkness.

“If you could do something about this, that would be much appreciated.” Arthur says, no doubt trying to lighten the mood.

“This is by far the worst rescue attempt I’ve ever been involved in.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin snorts, then draws on his reserves to conjure a ball of light. He’s never done it before, but apparently adrenaline is making his magic more inclined to cooperate because the passage is flooded with silver-blue light.

“Well done,” Arthur says and slips his hand into Merlin’s to tug him along, “This way.”

They reach the end of the passage and find it blocked by a gate. Without any hesitation, Merlin blasts it off its hinges.

They stumble free of the passage, surreptitiously brushing dust and cobwebs from their clothes. Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand once more, firm and warm, and pulls. Before long they are surrounded by the darkling woods, thoroughly hidden from anyone who might want to follow. Grey dawn light starts to filter through the trees.

“I have to leave you here.” Arthur says breathlessly, starting to loosen his grip on Merlin’s hand.

Merlin tightens his own grip, clinging even as Arthur tries to move away. Even as he says it, he knows what the answer will be, “Come with me.”

Arthur shakes his head, “I can’t. Someone has to keep an eye on things here.”

Merlin nods, lips tight, “If I never see you again…”

“Don’t talk like that,” Arthur says sharply, “Of course I’ll see you again.”

“Arthur, we don’t know that.”

“If nothing else, I will be King one day. You will be welcomed back with open arms then. We will see each other again.”

“Arthur—” Merlin starts to protest, but Arthur cuts him off.

He presses something warm into Merlin’s palm. Merlin’s breath catches in his chest.

“I can’t take your mother’s ring.”

“I will always come back for that.” Arthur insists. The message is clear. _I will always come back for you._

Merlin scrambles at the knot at the back of his neck with clumsy. He has nothing sentimental to give Arthur, but this will have to do. He folds the fabric of his favorite blue scarf neatly, then presses it into Arthur’s hand the same way Arthur pressed the ring into his.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more, but I thought you could remember me…”

Arthur shakes his head, then lurches forward. His hand claps awkwardly on the back of Merlin’s neck, and drags Merlin forward. Their lips meet in a much rougher kiss than the one they shared on the way back from Ealdor. They pull back to catch their breath, but leave their foreheads touching.

“Be safe.” Arthur breathes.

“I could say the same to you. You won’t have me there to save your life anymore.”

Arthur huffs out a strained laugh. Slowly, reluctantly, they disentangle from each other.

“I have to get back before they notice I’m gone.”

“I know.”

“Don’t stop moving until after dark. Keep going for as long as you can after as well, put as much distance between you and Camelot as you can.”

Merlin squeezes Arthur’s hand, and Arthur squeezes back. Then Arthur is moving away, hand lingering in Merlin’s for as long as possible. Merlin watches his retreating back until he disappears behind a hill.

A cool wind blows through the trees, and Merlin shivers. Without his scarf, he’s far more prone to chill.

He follows Arthur’s advice, and keeps moving. He never stays in a straight line for long, remembering all the tips he picked up from those awful hunting trips with Arthur. If—when they see each other again, Merlin still isn’t going to tell him they were useful after all.

The sun passes overhead. Merlin only pauses to eat once, when he starts to feel light headed. He eats only enough to take edge of the dizziness, and keeps moving. He can’t waste the time or supplies for a proper meal. He knows how to make due after years of poor harvest in Ealdor.

When the sun goes down, Merlin keeps moving as long as he can. Eventually the exhaustion of his sudden flight from Camelot catches up to him, and he finds a spot to camp. He knows better than to start a fire. So he nibbles on a small piece of bread from his rations, and tucks himself into the crook of tree root.

He’s near sleep when he hears a branch crack. He’s on his feet, magic crackling in his palm before he even consciously moved.

He’s facing an older man. His hair is greying, and he has a hood pulled over his head. He must be a druid. Merlin briefly wonders if they know what’s happening in Camelot, it isn’t easy to get news out in the middle of the woods.

“Welcome, Emrys. I am Iseldir. We’ve been expecting you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin reunite for the first time

It turns out that life without Merlin is miserable. It isn’t even that Arthur has refused to replace him, although that is a pain in its own right. Getting himself out of bed, and dressed before Morgana and Gwen arrive for breakfast is a chore and it’s a wonder that Merlin wasn’t more of an ass about it. It’s worth it, though, to keep him out of suspicion with the King. If Arthur can pretend Merlin has just been increasing his time as Gaius’s apprentice as the reason he’s no longer in council meetings, then Merlin won’t be under suspicion if he gets caught by one of the knights.

That isn’t what makes life miserable, however. No. It’s the boredom, and the distinct feeling that there’s something missing. He never realized how much he relied on Merlin in the meetings, not just as a servant but a friend. There’s no one there to exchange funny faces with when Lord Something-or-Other starts blathering on about the varieties of mushrooms that grow on his estate. There’s also no one to watch when a lord puts forth a new piece of legislation. Arthur was always able to judge the quality of the bill by the tightness around Merlin’s mouth, or the roll of his eyes when retrieving another pitcher of wine. 

Without Merlin there, Arthur find himself thinking about him constantly, wondering what Merlin would say if he _was_ there. It’s like a piece of his foundation has been ripped out from under him.

To top it off, there’s the patrols. He has never felt more like an owl in his life. The King has gotten it into his head that the city is most dangerous at night, and therefore their best warrior must lead the nightly patrol. It isn’t the worst logic, but it does mean that Arthur spends his nights marching through the streets. He stumbles to bed just before dawn, and is dragged awake mere hours later for breakfast and must face his daily duties.

Anyone caught out after curfew is considered suspicious, and arrested. 

The wind whistles through the empty streets, and cuts through Arthur’s armor. Despite the many layers of padding to prevent it from chafing, and his cape a chill still bites at his skin. Winter is in the air, and it won’t be long before the first snow fall. 

Unbidden, his mind flashes to Merlin. His plan had been to cast off a cloak of his own under the guise of it being too old, and allowing Merlin to keep it. IT would be inappropriate for him to exchange a proper Yule gift with his servant, but this would have come close. Merlin would have warmer clothes, and they could both pretend that Arthur didn’t care.

That plan had gone out the window the second the Questing Beast arrived.

Arthur shakes himself back to reality. It wouldn’t due to be caught daydreaming by one of the guards. He’s almost sure that they report his every move back to the King. He had lost what little trust there was between them when he spoke in favor of mercy for Nimueh. Fat lot of good it did. She still burned.

There’s a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He glances around surreptitiously, checking to see if any of the others have seen it. When he’s met with stony-faced silence, he breathes a little easier. 

“I think I spotted something.” he hisses to the captain of the guard. Instantly everyone around him is on high alert. It’s a physical change. They stand straighter, they grip their spears tighter.

“Where, my lord?”

“There,” Arthur says and points in the opposite direction of the shadow, “You take the guard that way, I’ll circle around and cut off the escape route.”

“Why not take some of my men with you, my lord?” the captain suggests.

“Element of surprise. Too many people and they might spook and lash out before we can arrest them.”

The mention of injury by magic sends a ripple of unease through the group. The guards glance at each other, and their hands tighten even further. No doubt they’re hoping their captain will listen to Arthur.

“Good, my lord.” The captain says, “This way,”

The guards rattle after him, their boots loud on the cobble stones. Arthur darts off in the direction of the shadow. He can tell it’s still there. Whoever it is, is probably hoping to blend in enough that they go by unnoticed. Fortunately for them Arthur is the one who spotted them in the first place.

He whips around the corner, and crouches down behind a storage barrel. A young woman is crouched behind another one, hands tight on a pack. A magic user trying to leave the city then. She really should thank the gods of the Old Religion that Arthur found her first.

“Please.” She says in a tremulous voice. It makes Arthur sick. The rare times he finds himself in situations like this, all he can see is Merlin. How he’d hate for his best friend to be caught in a situation where he must rely on the mercy of others. 

“It’s alright,” he says in a low voice, “I’m not going to arrest you.”

The young woman lets out a shaky breath, and nods.

“I’m going to try to get you out of here. You’re not far from the gate out of the lower town. I’ll draw the guards away from you, and then I want you to find a place to hide. Leave during the sentry change. The men are sleepiest at dawn and will be too tired to notice you properly. Do understand?”

The young woman nods.

Arthur nods, and stands up once more. He jogs off in the direction of the rendezvous point, and when he’s far enough from the young woman he makes a big production of knocking over a storage barrel and cursing.

The guards come running as expected.

“My lord, is everything alright?” the captain asks.

Arthur rubs his elbow, and dawns the expression Merlin used to call ‘offended by the existence of the world’ face, “I’m fine. It turns out the shadow I saw was just a blasted dog. Damn thing jumped at me and I knocked over the barrel trying to get out of its way.”

“A dog?”

“Yes. Must have been a stray. Let’s keep moving.”

The captain inclines his head, and gestures for his men to follow. Arthur’s thoughts remain with the young woman for the rest of the night. He prays she makes it to safety.

*

The guards are definitely reporting back.

It’s been two days since he let the young woman go, when he gets summoned to dinner before his nightly patrol. The walk to his Parent’s quarters feels like a death march. By the time he gets there, he has thoroughly convinced himself that the King is not only aware that Arthur has been avoiding making arrests, but also actively giving advice on how to flee the city safely.

He knocks on the heavy wooden door, and steps through. This time there are no traces of his mother. The nightgown, slippers, and comb have all vanished. Even the faint scent of her perfume has been removed from the space.

“Arthur. Take a seat.” his father gestures to the empty chair at the end of the table.

Arthur sinks into it like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and accepts the plate his father’s servant hands him. They eat in silence, and Arthur can barely taste the chicken through his fear.

Half an hour later he shoves his chair back and makes to stand, “Well, if you’ll excuse me I do have to go to the guards. I’m on duty tonight.”

“I wanted to talk to you about just that subject.” His father says, and the tone has all the markings of pulling another royal into a trap, “Sit.”

Arthur sits.

“It has come to my attention that on nights when you lead the patrol, there are a quarter of the number of arrests.”

Arthur shrugs like it doesn’t matter, like he can’t see his best friend’s face in every single one of the people he lets go, “Perhaps the people have gotten wind of the schedule and are more scared of me than the just the guards.”

“Perhaps. Though it does make me wonder. After all, someone alerted the magic users in the city of the new legislation before it was announced. Now you seem to be arresting fewer people than any captain of the guard.”

“Are you implying that I would betray you?”

“I am implying that you should not give me a reason to distrust you. If I discover that you have been aiding known criminals, I will do worse than banish you.”

“Of course, Father.” Arthur says and stand. He’s amazed that his voice is as steady as it is considering the tightness in his chest, “I will make you proud.”

His father sits back then, looking pleased, “See that you do.”

Arthur nods and leaves the room. He strides confidently down the hall, and out to the stable. He waves hello to the remaining stable hand, and then circles behind the building to the dung heap. Then he promptly empties his stomach.

He takes up a new tactic then. He learns what captains are inherently lazy, and works with them as often as he can. It’s easy to convince them to pad their arrests. He spends nights staking out the area around the rising sun, and arrests any drunks that start fights or sing too loudly. They spend a couple of hours in the stocks the next day, and are free to go.

It keeps the King off his back. It helps that the arrest numbers from the nights Arthur isn’t patrolling are dropping as more magic users flee the city.

The system works. Innocent people are safe, and the King is satisfied. Then Arthur’s carefully constructed scheme falls apart. Why a druid and his son felt the need to enter the city at all given the state of affairs is beyond him, but enter they do.

Arthur spends three days ‘chasing down’ the child. He doesn’t want to arrest him anymore than he wants to arrest any other innocent soul. If anything he feels worse about this. A child is no threat.

Then he finds Morgana and the druid boy hiding in an empty shop, and another helping of headache is added to his plate.

“They’re not in here!” he calls to the guards. Morgana sags with relief, and clutches the druid boy closer to her.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“Get him back inside. It’s too dangerous right now.” Arthur instructs, and Morgana nods.

Rather than go to bed after his patrol shift is over, he sneaks up to Morgana’s room. There’s the faint flicker of a candle just visible under the edge of her door. She’s awake. He glances around the corridors, confirming that there are no guards, and knocks the special knock they created as children when they wanted to get into trouble together.

The door swings open a crack a moment later and Arthur squeezes by Gwen. She shuts the door behind him and locks it. He always knew she was smarter than anyone would give her credit for.

Morgana is sitting on the bed. She hasn’t changed out of her travelling clothes, and the druid boy’s head is pillowed in her lap. He looks unnaturally pale, and that’s when he notices the bandage around one of his tiny arms. 

“He’s hurt.”

“One of the guards cut him in the struggle. Gaius did his best to patch him up.” Morgana explains and runs trembling fingers through the druid boy’s hair.

“Oh good. Gaius is in on this too. Morgana, do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” Arthur almost shouts.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I don’t care if Uther executes me if it means he’s safe.”

“And where would that leave anyone? It would only increase his paranoia!”

Morgana tilts her head stubbornly, “Are you saying you won’t help him?”

“That’s not…” Arthur groans in frustration.

“What if it was me? Wouldn’t you want someone to risk themselves to keep me safe?”

“But it isn’t you.” Arthur reminds her.

“It is me.”

“What?”

“I was the one who warned Merlin about Sofia.” Morgana says, still stroking the druid boy’s hair.

Arthur feels like he’s been punched, “You…”

“Have magic. Yes.”

Arthur blows out a sigh and collapses into a chair. After a moment he straightens a little and looks at Morgana, “Okay. It’s too dangerous to take him out of Camelot right now. We have to come up with an alternate plan.”

“We’ve already been keeping him here. Would it be impossible to keep that up?” Gwen asks.

“It can’t last. Someone is going to get suspicious about how secretive Morgana has gotten after years of addressing the servants as equals.”

“How long do we have?” Morgana asks.

The druid boy’s eyes bore into Arthur from across the room, too wide and too blue, “There’s going to be a search of the castle in two days’ time. We have to get him before that.”

“So we move tomorrow night.” Gwen says.

Arthur looks up at her, “I appreciate the loyalty, Guinevere, but I can’t ask you to risk your life.”

“I’ve been risking my life for days now.” Gwen says fiercely, “I’m not going to sit back and let others be hurt because I’m too scared.”

Arthur smiles tiredly at her and nods, “Very well. Then I have a plan.”

*

Gwen is a welcome sight when Arthur finally emerges from the tunnel. The druid boy had clung to his hand the entire time, but blessedly didn’t make a sound. It was so different than the desperate flight with Merlin, but the fear is the same. Knowing one slip up could cost them everything.

Gwen hands them both bags for the road, and gives the druid boy a hug. Then Arthur mounts his horse, and Gwen hands the druid boy up to him. Once they’re both firmly settled, Arthur turns to Gwen.

“Spread the story that I’ve gone on a hunting trip.” He reminds her.

“”Won’t the King be furious?” she asks softly.

“I’ll deal with his temper when I get back. If you have to, spread a story that I got my heart broken by a girl in the lower town. He’ll think I went to blow off some steam like I did after Sofia.”

Gwen nods and squeezes his knee, “Good luck.”

*

“You’re sure I’ll know the location when I find it?” Merlin asks Iseldir for probably the thousandth time.

Iseldir nods solemnly, “You will.”

Merlin bites his lip to prevent himself from asking again. He has to trust that Iseldir would never put one of his own in harm’s way. Therefore he would not put Merlin in harm’s way, nor would he give Merlin poor advice that could lead to another magic user getting hurt. It still seems ridiculous that Merlin’s magical senses would pick up the trail to the pickup point. 

He reminds himself that they’ve been operating this way since the ban came down months ago. They have never been caught.

He swings himself into the saddle of the only horse, a grumpy brown thing that has a tendency to bite Merlin when he isn’t paying attention, and leads it around in the general direction Iseldir pointed earlier. It reminds him of all the hunting trips he’d gone on with Arthur in their time together. He’d hated them, and now he would give anything to have that time back.

At the thought of Arthur, his heart clenches painfully in his chest. He’d been in Arthur’s company for only a little over a year, but it was enough time for them to get close. Arthur is his friend; that is for certain. It burns that they may never get to explore whatever more there was between them because of one man’s bigotry.

Merlin takes a focusing breath, and brushes his thumb against the ring on his left index. Arthur said he would come back for it, always would. Merlin has to take him at his word. He has to. Or else he isn’t sure he’ll have much to look forward to.

Bizarrely, it seems like he does know where to go. There’s a current in the air that is almost visible. Just a golden hum of magic drifting through the trees, leading him forward. Never once does the old horse stumble.

He follows the trail to a clearing. The magic pools here. It collects between the trees, spilling out among the others like waves lapping at a shore. There is no other off shoot from here, so Merlin reins the horse in and dismounts.

He paces the edge of thee clearing, chewing at the side of his thumb. He can’t help feeling like he’s going to screw it up somehow. That somehow Uther’s men have tracked him and are going to come barging in any second declaring him arrested for treason, or perhaps he arrived too late and the smuggler had to move on to the next stop or risk getting caught.

Sticks and dead leaves crack under his boots. The first snow will be any day now, and it’s going to make smuggling magic users much more difficult.

Finally he hears the thundering of hooves, and his head snaps up. He squints into the trees, straining to see into the dark grey smudges of trees against the blackness of night. He could just use his magic to light the way, but if it’s one of Uther’s men he can’t risk it.

The horse, comes to a stop just far enough away for Merlin to have trouble identifying it.

“I’ve come with a package.” A familiar voice calls out, using the code phrase.

Merlin’s heart leaps in his chest, “Arthur?”

There’s a pause, and for a moment Merlin fears he was wrong. It would be mad for Arthur to come all this way. Yes, Morgana has been helping but she’s mad so it hardly counts. He hasn’t said the code phrase back immediately, and that means the smuggler must move on.

“Merlin?”

A figure emerges into the clearing, and Merlin would recognize him anywhere. Long brown coat, blonde hair, prat. Merlin grins so hard his cheeks ache, and he launches himself across the clearing.

“Arthur!”

Arthur lets out a surprised laugh, and catches him. Arthur’s arms tighten around his back, tugging him close, and Arthur buries his face in Merlin’s neck.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Arthur asks, voice warm with amusement.

“I’m smuggling magic users to safety. What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

“The same.”

Merlin lets out an incredulous laugh, and takes half a step back. He still clutches at Arthur’s shoulders, unwilling to let him go now that he’s here.

“I knew Morgana was mad, but it seems like it might be a family trait.”

“Thank you for the glowing endorsement, Merlin.” Arthur says dryly, and Merlin chuckles.

Merlin just gazes at him. He hasn’t changed much in the time they’ve been apart. Arthur’s hair is a bit longer, and there’s the beginnings of scruff on his cheeks and chin. Dark circles settle beneath his eyes, making him look older and haunted. He’s still the same Arthur, though. Same slightly crooked front teeth, same braying laugh.

Warmth suffuses Merlin deep in his chest.

“It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Arthur says softly, thumb stroking at the juncture of Merlin’s neck and shoulder where his scarf would normally be.

_Emrys. What’s going on?_

Merlin winces, and claps his hands to his ears even though he knows it won’t do any good. He’s still getting used to the intrusiveness of druid mindspeak, and children are worse. They haven’t learned to moderate their volume any better than a non-druid child, but it’s done directly into your head.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice sounds worried, but Merlin’s head is ringing too much for him to respond properly.

“A bit softer, if you please.” he calls to the Druid Boy. Instantly the ringing softens enough that Merlin can breathe again.

Arthur glances over his shoulder, and then back to Merlin. His eyebrows are drawn together, and Merlin grins to himself. He missed that look; worried, confused, angry about being worried and confused.

“Druids use mindspeak. He came on a bit loud is all.”

Arthur shakes his head, “The more I learn about magic, the more I’m convinced you’re making most of it up to sound more mysterious.”

He finally releases Merlin, crosses back across the clearing, and takes Llamrei’s reins. She follows after him, barely bothered with her only rider. The Druid Boy is ridiculously young. He can’t be more than ten. His eyes are wide and unblinking.

“What’s your name?” Merlin asks gently.

_Mordred._

“Nice to meet you, Mordred. I’m Merlin.”

_I know who you are._

Merlin rolls his eyes, and turns his head to Arthur, “You two would get along.”

Arthur laughs and shoves Merlin’s shoulder, “What? Is he telling you what an idiot you are?”

“Not in so many words. Come on. We should keep moving.”

“I thought I was meant to just hand him over to you.” Arthur points out.

Merlin shrugs, “You were but it’s almost dawn. Riding back into Camelot now would draw attention. Stay with us for a bit.”

“Just admit you missed me.” 

“Never.”

Arthur smiles, then mounts up behind Mordred. Merlin tries to mount his own horse, but as usual it tries to bite him and there are several long moments where they both struggle for power. Merlin wins out in the end, and mounts up.

“Why do horses hate you? Were you a horse thief in a previous life?”

“Excuse you. Llamrei, Hengroen, and Daisy all love me.”

“Daisy?”

“The horse you always made me ride.”

Arthur’s eyebrows tick up in amusement, “You named a royal horse Daisy? You are such a girl’s petticoat.”

“Don’t make me turn you into a pig. You already snore like one.”

“I do not snore!”

“Not according to Gwen.”

Arthur makes an outraged little noise, “No one likes a clever clogs, Merlin.”

Merlin grins, feeling lighter than he has since he left Camelot, “Admit it. You missed me.”

“Never.” Arthur answers with a responding grin of his own.

Merlin leads the way back through the forest, keeping to the thicker trees like he did on his way out. So far the Knight’s haven’t made it this patch, but there’s a first time for everything and he doesn’t want to get caught. So no matter how badly he wants to tease Arthur and return to their usual pattern of jokes and roughhousing, he resists. They took a big enough risk in the clearing.

Grey light begins to filter through the trees, casting everything in shades of muted silver. Mist wends its way through the trunks, and the horses’ breath steams in the chilly air. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mordred shiver in the cold. Arthur gathers the excess of his cape that was draped over Llamrei’s haunches, and wraps it around Mordred. He settles back into Arthur’s chest with a little sigh.

They reach the druid camp just after dawn. Already it’s bustling with movement. Fires are being started to ward off the chill, cooking pots are being pulled out for breakfast, some of the magic users are casting protection spells on their camp, and a few children run around getting under foot.

“I didn’t expect it to be so…” Arthur trails off.

Merlin turns his head. Arthur is gazing at the people, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“So what?” Merlin prompts.

“Normal. It’s like a village. I expected something more miserable and solemn.”

Merlin shrugs, and leads them to the tree that acts a stable for the brown horse and one donkey, “Most of them are relieved to be alive. They’re trying to find joy where they can. They don’t know when it will run out.”

They both dismount, and Merlin takes Llamrei’s reins so Arthur can lift Mordred down from the saddle. As soon as his little feet hit the ground, he races off into the campsite, and moments later he’s scooped up in a hug by Aglain.

“Come on. You look like you could use some stew.” Merlin says.

“Only if it’s not yours.” Arthur jokes.

“I should have let you take your chances with the Camelot guards.”

Arthur laughs, and Merlin can’t hide his chuckle either. He nods his head in the direction of the cook fire, and they both make their way over. They are greeted with a bowl of stew each. It isn’t Camelot kitchen good, but it is hearty and warm. Arthur devours his, and looks guiltily at the serving pot.

“Still hungry?”

Arthur shrugs, “I missed dinner last night in order to get Mordred out.”

Merlin shoves his bowl into Arthur’s hands, “I’m too tired to eat.”

Arthur eyes him suspiciously, but takes a tentative bite. When it becomes clear there’s no prank involved, he eats the rest of the bowl at a much slower pace.

“Why do you look so terrible?”

“You haven’t seen me in four months and that’s the first thing you think to say when we’re alone?”

Merlin grins, entirely unrepentant, “Why would I compliment you? You’d only get a big head about it.”

Arthur sets his bowl down, then leans back on his elbows, and gazes into the fire, “I’ve been given extra duties since the ban came down. I’m out patrolling the lower town every night, and I’ve been covering for you.”

That takes Merlin by surprise.

“What do you mean covering for me?”

Arthur drags a hand over his face, “My father doesn’t know you left Camelot. I couldn’t risk him making the connection between you leaving, and the ban coming down. So I’ve been pretending you’re still around annoying me.”

Merlin bumps Arthur’s shoulder with his own. It’s a thank you without words. Arthur isn’t good at talking about his rare displays of emotion when they occur. Something warm, twists inside Merlin at the thought of Arthur going out of his way to protect him. Earning Arthur’s loyalty isn’t easy, and while he always suspected he had it, it is still nice to know for certain.

“I’m guessing you could use some sleep then.”

“I really could.” Arthur admits.

Merlin stands, and tugs Arthur up with him. They walk through the camp, dodging runaway children and chickens.

“My tent is a bit small but it’s that or sleep outside where children will inevitably magic your hair blue in your sleep.”

“I’ve seen your room in Camelot. I might be better off with blue hair.”

“Don’t be an ass or I might let them in to do it.”

They duck into his tent, and Arthur seems to sag with relief. He strips off his gloves, and starts fumbling clumsily with the knots fastening his armor. Merlin bats his hands away, and does it himself.

“Do you know how many spells I put on these knots so they’d never be too tight to untie? I leave for a few months and you undo all my hard work.”

Arthur’s hand comes up, and grasps Merlin’s wrist. When he looks up, Arthur is frowning at him.

“You don’t have to do that. You’re not my servant.”

Something in Merlin’s chest eases, and he rests his forehead against Arthur’s, “I know. Just let me?”

Arthur’s eyes slips shut, and he nods tiredly. Merlin works free all the knots, aided only slightly by his magic. He sets the armor aside with more care than he ever did when they were in Arthur’s chambers. When Merlin finally lifts the gambeson over Arthur’s head, Arthur collapses face first into Merlin’s pallet.

Merlin slips his boots off, and then slides down next to him, elbowing to make room for himself. With a grunt of annoyance, Arthur shifts onto his side, and drapes one heavy arm over Merlin’s chest. Merlin stiffens in surprise, but when Arthur doesn’t pull away he settles in.

“I did miss you.” He admits.

Arthur doesn’t say anything but his arm does tighten a little, and Merlin counts it as an admission. Arthur is warm against his back, his nose is buried in the nape of his neck and every time he breathes out it tickles. It shouldn’t be comfortable to be used as a rag doll, but if Merlin closes his eyes he can pretend that they’re out on a hunting trip. Granted they’d never gotten the chance to do this before, but it doesn’t matter. Merlin feels his eyes drifting shut.

Arthur ends up staying for three days. Every night they fall asleep tangled together. Merlin opens his mouth several times, hoping to break the tension between them, hoping to acknowledge the kisses they shared, but it never seems the right time. Arthur holds court most days, trying to learn how to keep his people safe. Then there are moments when Arthur thinks no one is looking where his eyes crinkle with sadness. Whether it’s about his mother, or the state of the kingdom Merlin can’t tell. Either way, it doesn’t feel right to intrude on Arthur’s worry in such a way. 

On the morning of the third day, he helps Arthur saddle Llamrei. The lightness that has been filling Merlin’s chest has drained away. He may not be a mind reader, but even he can tell that Arthur is thinking the same thing as him. Arthur is leaving, and neither know when he’ll be back.

“You could stay.” Merlin says softly, breaking the silence.

He doesn’t look up from the saddlebag he’s tightening, but he can sense Arthur’s eyes on him.

“I can’t leave Morgana and Gwen on their own.” 

“I understand. I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

Arthur’s hand sneaks out, and squeezes his shoulder, “I promise, as soon as I’m king this will all be over.”

“If I survive that long.” Merlin says bitterly.

Arthur tugs him closer, and wraps Merlin in his arms. It’s warm, but not nearly as comforting as the night before.

“You’re too much of an idiot to die.”

Despite himself, Merlin snorts out a laugh. When he steps back, Arthur is smiling.

“Sorry,” Merlin says, “I shouldn’t let our last moments together be like this.”

“We will figure something out,” Arthur says and swings himself into Llamrei’s saddle, “You and me Merlin, we always figure something out.”

Merlin smiles, and pats Arthur’s knee, “We’ll figure something out.” He agrees.

Arthur dips down then, and presses a kiss to Merlin’s lips. Then he straightens, and steers Llamrei away into the forest.

“You can’t just keep kissing me and running off, you cabbagehead!” Merlin shouts after him. He thinks he hears Arthur laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying the fic? Want to make sure the author has enough serotonin to keep putting out content?  
> [ Consider reblogging this on tumblr.](https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/post/624832532969570304/the-lines-are-drawn-chapter-5) That would be cool of you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets some disturbing news. Merlin must make a plan.

The council chambers are cold, and not just in temperature. The counselors sitting along the two sides of the table are sitting stiffly in their seats. The usual jokes that are exchanged are non-existent even if they were rather stuffy jokes about grain storage before. Each one sits frozen under the King’s icy glare. 

Arthur is no different. He’s always had a habit of slouching against the back of his seat when there isn’t anything relevant to his duties being discussed. It’s always driven his father mad, and his mother used to laugh and say it was the least of the kingdom’s concerns. Now his father isn’t just the King, he’s the King persecuting anyone who gets in his way of persecuting magic. He’s dangerous. So Arthur sits up straight and pays attention.

“Arthur, report from the guards?” the King snaps and holds out his hand.

Arthur places the report in the outstretched palm, “We’ve made further arrests this week. Mostly it has been disturbance of the peace. With the first snow fall people are getting antsy about being trapped in their homes. Arrests of magic users has been on the decline. Most were either caught in the initial sweeps or managed to flee.” 

The King nods, flipping through the stacks of documents, “Very good. Our guards are doing well, then?”

Arthur nods, “They’ve been working hard.”

Then the subject slides way from arrests, and training for the knights, and on to something else. Arthur can only breathe slightly better without his father’s eyes on him. He hasn’t seen a single spark of warmth in them since his mother’s death. Today is much the same. Grey-blue steel filled with cold determination.

Reports of grain storage for winter are handed out by one of the councilors. They agree to send aid to a village that might struggle. Arthur suppresses a shiver when the suggestion is made that they withhold aid unless the villages can produce at least one magic user from their ranks.

“I don’t think that’s entirely wise, Father.”

The King’s eye’s snap to him with suspicion, “Why not?”

“If they can’t produce a real sorcerer then they have one of two options: provide a fake one, or starve. If they provide a fake one an innocent person will be burned and suspicion will grow until the village turns on one another. If they starve, then they may choose to side with Bayard should Mercia try to invade.” Arthur says quickly, scrambling for excuses that don’t indicate that the purge is wrong, “Eradicating magic is important, but we can’t let it throw Camelot in chaos.”

That steely blue gaze softens minutely, “Very well. Your points have merit. We will provide aid as we normally do.”

Arthur hopes he’s not imagining it when a few councilors breathe a sigh of relief. The issue of the purge is a delicate one, and he can tell not everyone has thrown their support behind it. Unfortunately he can’t ask anyone what they truly believe because they’ll assume he’s a spy. It’s a mess.

“Finally, Sir Pellinore has a report he would like to deliver.”

Sir Pellinore steps up, and inclines his head respectfully. He was a knight long before Arthur became a squire. He’s his father’s man through and through. Whatever he has to say is probably not good. 

“Thank you, sire. I’ve had an informant among some of the prominent druidic camps in the Darkling Woods. He has finally returned with some useable information. We know where the encampment will be settling in two days’ time,” Pellinore announces and Arthur thinks he might be sick, “I am formally requesting to take a retinue of knights with me to intercept them.”

A murmur runs through the councilors, and a few shift uneasily in their seats. The King’s eyes glitter with malice, and delight.

“This is excellent news, Pellinore. Your request is granted. Provide a list of those wish to take with you in the morning.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Well, if there’s no more to be discussed I suggest we all get some sleep.” The King suggests, and when there is no objection he sweeps from the room.

One by one the councilors shuffle their papers into order, and stand. None of them so much exchange goodbyes as they leave. Once they all have left, Arthur strolls out behind them. He makes his ways to the stable, and ignores the voice in his head that screams at him to go faster because every moment he spends walking is one less moment he could be riding.

He manages to keep it together all the way down to the stables. He smiles politely at the stable boy who was obviously settling down for bed.

“I haven’t had a chance to exercise Hengroen much lately. Would you mind saddling him for me?”

The stable frowns at him suspiciously, “It’s full night, my lord. He could twist an ankle.”

Arthur makes himself chuckle as though he’s unconcerned, “Don’t worry. I won’t take him much beyond the gate in the lower town. I have a rare evening off that’s all.”

Mollified, the stable boy saddles Hengroen and leads him out to Arthur. Arthur smiles gratefully and promises to bed down Hengroen himself so as not to interrupt his sleep. The stable boy shrugs, and returns to his bed, and Arthur prays that he writes the experience off as an eccentricity of being royal.

He mounts Hengroen and rides casually along, barely at a trot. No one seems to notice him really, and he again thanks whatever lucky being is looking out for him that he’d changed out of his mail before the council meeting.

When he exits the lower gate, he picks up the speed. He reaches the edge of the Darkling Woods, and pulls up short. He slips the stone from behind the keys on his belt, and traces his thumb over it the same way Merlin showed him last time. Within moments a glittering trail leads in among the trees, and Arthur rides at an irresponsible speed in order to follow it.

He isn’t sure how long he rides, but eventually he hears the sound of hooves coming to meet him. He bursts into a clearing just as Merlin does. His dark hair is wild, and few twigs are tangled in the mess of curls. Arthur has never been so glad to see him.

“What’s happened?” Merlin asks breathlessly, “You used the stone.”

“You have a spy among you,” Arthur pants, dismounting Hengroen, “Someone informed Pellinore where you were planning on settling next.”

Merlin curses loudly enough to startle a few owls, and dismounts the brown horse, “How long do we have?”

“They plan to intercept you in two days’ time. Pellinore plans on bringing a full retinue with him. You need to change directions.”

Merlin runs a hand through his hair, dislodging some of the twigs. A shadow of a beard darkens his jaw.

“If we do that suspicion will fall on anyone in that council meeting, including you.”

Arthur shakes his head, “That doesn’t matter. Even if he finds out it was me at least you’ll be safe.”

“We need you to live, Arthur. You are meant to be king, and we rely on you to change the laws. You can’t get caught.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting we sacrifice your own people.” Arthur says darkly.

“No!” Merlin shouts, and sits heavily on a fallen tree, “There has to be some way we can all be safe.”

“How?”

“I don’t know! You’re the knight! You know about strategy!”

Arthur sucks in a deep breath and sits next to Merlin on the tree. Fear and exhaustion has shortened their tempers, not that Arthur had a particularly steady one to begin with. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he can see sparks.

“A strategic loss.”

“What?” Merlin asks.

Arthur drops his hands from his eyes and turns to Merlin, “A strategic loss. We make the knights fight just large enough group that it looks like the spy exaggerated numbers to make himself more impressive, but not so big that they can capture people in the chaos.”

Merlin nods, “What’s the downside?”

“People are going to get hurt, and some might die.”

“But not as many?”

“But not as many.” Arthur agrees.

“Alright. I’ll see who is willing to fight with me.”

Arthur’s stomach drops, “Merlin, you’re not a knight. You can’t go out there.”

“I’m the only one with any experience using my magic to fight, keeping you alive for a year. I can’t sit behind and let others take the risk when I know I’m the best suited.”

“You sound like me.”

Merlin laughs, “I had to listen to you prattle on at the knights every day at training. Some of it was bound to stick.”

“So you’re saying I was a positive influence?”

“I’m saying you’re a self-sacrificing idiot.”

Arthur snorts then, and bumps Merlin’s shoulder with his.

“No chance you could stay?” Merlin asks, face creasing with worry, “We aren’t much better off than we were in Ealdor.”

“You know I’m of more use in Camelot. You’ll have to do the training this time.”

“I don’t know if I know how.”

“Well figure it out, Merlin.”

“Your advice is as helpful as ever, my lord.” Merlin says dryly.

“How do manage to make ‘my lord’ sound like an insult? You do it every time.”

“If I made it sound like a proper title you might start getting funny ideas.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m meant to listen to you.”

Arthur laughs again, and drapes an arm over Merlin’s shoulder, “Would it be so bad if you did what you were told?”

“You’d be bored in an hour.”

“You might have a point there.”

“I usually do.” Merlin agrees and buries his head in Arthur’s shoulder.

“Has there been a problem with the snow?” Arthur asks. Any excuse to keep sitting there holding Merlin like this.

“Some. Most people were able to plan to flee so they brought winter cloaks with them. I’m freezing most of the time, and a couple children have caught a cold.”

“I’ll bring you a cloak next time.” Arthur promises softly.

“I could kiss you.”

“You already have.” 

“Well I don’t have any other form of payment do I?” Merlin jokes with one of those wide goofy grins of his.

“You really are a total moron, aren’t you, Merlin?”

Merlin huffs a laugh, “It’s one of my many talents.”

Arthur buries his nose in Merlin’s hair, and neither of them speak for several moments. Arthur doesn’t want this moment to end, and he has a feeling Merlin doesn’t either. They still haven’t actually discussed what this is between them, and Arthur can only hope that once this war is over that it will still be there.

Finally, Merlin pulls back and smiles grimly, “You should go.”

“You’re right.”

“That’s why I said it.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin laughs, but they both drag themselves to their feet. Merlin catches him by the front of his coat, and hauls him in with surprising strength. Several months living rough will do that, Arthur supposes. Merlin leans in and presses his mouth to Arthur’s in a desperate kiss. Arthur sighs into it, mouth falling open slightly. He wants this so badly he can barely find which way is up. They pull away, shoot each other amused grins, and ride in opposite directions.

Arthur rides into town, and manages to time it just right that he doesn’t encounter any guards that might report back to his father. He reaches the stable, and beds Hengroen just as promised. The stable boy doesn’t even stir as Arthur shuts the stall door with a heavy click.

He isn’t so lucky on his way back to his chambers. He’s caught by one of the patrols, and the captain only lets him leave when he convinces them all he was just out for a stroll to work out some restless energy. It isn’t the worst lie, especially when he backs it up with the explanation that he’s grown used to the night shift.

The news will reach his father by morning.

He curses silently to himself as he climbs the stairs to his chambers. He’s not going to be able to continue to help until the suspicion on him fades, and that means getting Morgana and Gwen involved. He hates the idea of either of them coming into harm’s way, no matter how well they managed themselves in Ealdor. Neither of them have trained to be spies.

A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Merlin reminds him that he didn’t train to be a spy either, and that he should trust the judgment of his friends. 

He is out of his depth, and he knows it. He needs Morgana and Gwen backing him up whenever possible. It just isn’t feasible for them to anything other than send magic users his way. It is far more suspicious for one of them to take a horse from the stables at night than it is for him. They’d be caught the first time out, and it limits what they can do. 

He pushes open the door to his chambers, and locks them behind him. He leans against them, eyes closed, exhaustion threatening to drag him under.

“Arthur.”

Arthur has his sword in hand and pointed at the intruder before the mossed heartbeat even registers.   
“Leon?” and sure enough it is. He offers Arthur an awkward smile. “What the _hell_ are you doing in my chambers?”

“I know what’s been going on.” Leon answers, and it takes every ounce of Arthur’s body not to react to that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He responds casually, and sheathes his sword. He makes his way across to the table and pops a grape into his mouth, giving himself some time to think.

“Most of the other knights haven’t noticed because of the extra duties, but I have. Merlin hasn’t been your servant for nearly six months. He left the night the purge was announced, and for some reason you’ve been pretending that he’s still around.”

Damn Leon and his observational skills. Arthur had admired them since he was still a squire.

“Why don’t you come out and say exactly what you think has been going on?” Arthur says, deepening his voice in his best imitation of his father.

“I know Merlin has magic. The two of you would ride off into impossible odds, and come back without a scratch. I know you must have been the one to smuggle him out the night of the purge. And I know you have been helping the druids to smuggle sorcerers out of Camelot, presumably with Merlin’s help.” Leon lists calmly, “I think that was where you went tonight after the council meeting, to warn him.”

Arthur sighs, and drags a hand through his hair.

“What do you want, Sir Leon?”

Arthur can already feel the carefully constructed network crumbling under the weight of discovery. Leon may be an honorable man, but that is going to be Arthur’s down fall. He’s going to demand Arthur cut ties with Merlin, and tell the King.

“To help.”

He was not expecting that.

Arthur’s head whips up so quickly he feels the bones in his neck creak, “What?”

“I was your father’s man, but the Knights’ Code states we may go back on our word if our king has crossed the lines of moral decency. I have never had a quarrel with magic users, and I believe your father’s crusade is wrong.” Leon explains, “I am _your_ man now, Arthur.”

It reminds Arthur of all those months ago, before Nimueh burned. _I think you know I’ve never been loyal to him._

“What did you have in mind?”

“You can’t keep running messages on your own. You were almost caught tonight. Uther will grow suspicious eventually. I propose we alternate.”

Arthur’s shoulders sag in relief. He can keep Morgana and Gwen out of the fray for some time yet.

“Take this.” He unties the stone from his belt, and passes it over by the cord threaded through the hole in it, “It shows the path to Merlin. When you go, tell him I sent you and ask him to make you another one.”

Leon nods, and slips it into his pocket.

“Is there anyone else I should talk to, my lord?”

“If you can find a way to do so subtly, talk to Gwen and Morgana. They’ve been tracking down any magic users still left in Camelot and sending them to me. They need to know that they can send people to you safely.”

“Yes, sire.”

“I’ll try to get word to them as well. My father has my schedule of duties so twisted it’s been difficult to get time alone with them.”

“May God help us all.” Leon agrees.

“You didn’t strike me as particularly religious.” Arthur mentions.

“In times like these, we need all the help we can get, and I don’t know enough about the old religion to ask it for help.”

Arthur snorts and shakes his head, a small smile spreading on his face despite his best efforts, “Wise words, Sir Leon. You are dismissed for the night.”

“Sire.” Leon acknowledges and strides across the chambers to the exit. 

“Wait, Sir Leon.” Arthur calls.

“Sire?”

“Thank you. You have no idea how much your aid means to us.”

Leon smiles gently, and Arthur is reminded of exactly why he had fancied Leon in years passed. That had changed right around the time that Merlin came crashing into his life with his big ears and loud mouth.

“I am doing what is right, Sire. You don’t need to thank me.”

“Arthur. If we’re going to be committing treason together then call me Arthur.” Arthur insists.

“Arthur. I suppose you should drop the Sir in front of my name then.”

“Very well,” Arthur agrees, “From here on out we are simply Arthur and Leon.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is on the horizon, and Arthur and Merlin must prepare.

“We can’t just keep hiding!” the young man snaps. Merlin has already forgotten his name. Normally he’s better about it than this, but he’s exhausted. He can’t keep up with the constant rotation of people in and out of their band of refugees. The fight against Uther’s knights took more magic from him than he ever thought possible, and he still has bouts of dizziness at times.

“He’s right! Uther keeps hunting us down like dogs, and he will _keep_ hunting us down until we fight back.” A young woman agrees.

“We should take the fight to Uther. Let him be the one on the defensive for once.” The first young man suggests.

There are murmurs around the fire that sound like agreement. Sparks float upwards towards the branches, and Merlin watches them go. The thing is, he agrees. He has never cared about Uther, especially when he saw how cold and distant he was towards Arthur. Now, he hates Uther with his very soul, has hated him since he sentenced Nimueh to burn. He never liked Nimueh either, but she was one of his own. She didn’t deserve to die like that. Uther needs to be taken down.

Then he thinks of Camelot. He thinks of little Sally with her doll who always waved hello to Merlin on his errands for Gaius. He remembers that one barkeep from the Rising Sun who had laughed in delight when Merlin produced butterflies from thin air, and given him a free drink. He thinks of Morgana and Gwen who put their safety on the line every time they help a sorcerer escape. He thinks of Arthur, strong and true even when insufferable.

To get to Uther, they’d have to take the citadel. To do that there would need to be an army, and if they took an army into Camelot who knew how many of those kind people might get hurt.

Uther deserves to die, but the citadel does not deserve to burn.

“We can’t.” Merlin interjects.

Ten pair of eyes flick to him, and when did he become their leader? He was never meant to lead. He isn’t Arthur. He just happens to fit a prophecy, and most of the time it seems like utter nonsense. 

“Why not, Emrys?” one of the actual druids asks.

Merlin twitches a bit at the name. It seems like the only people who call him Merlin these days are Arthur and Leon.

“We play right into their hands if we do that. Think about it. Most people don’t truly believe we deserve to be hunted and burned, they’re just too scared to stand up against Uther,” Merlin points out, “If he ever gets so much of a hint that they might be sympathizers he could and would burn them and anyone they loved. If we go in, magic blazing, we’ll turn those people to his side. We’ll be the monsters Uther tries to make us out to be.”

“Emrys may have a point,” Iseldir says calmly as he returns to the fire with drinks for everyone gathered, “For now, we must protect ourselves. We cannot make the first move.”

With Iseldir’s backing, the murmuring around the fire quiets. No one dares argue with him or Aglain when they make a decision. They have the refugees’ respect; for now at least. Merlin suspects it won’t last for long. He can tell that more than the two who spoke up are in favor of starting a war. 

Merlin scrubs a hand over his face and through his hair. Maybe a war is what they need, but the idea of the citadel falling or, worse, Arthur falling is too much to bear. 

“I should go. Getting another one tonight.” Merlin says and stands. He dusts his hands off on his trousers, and tugs Arthur’s cast off cloak straight.

He and the brown horse have since reached an impasse. Merlin doesn’t try to pet it, it doesn’t try to bite Merlin. It works. It’s gotten easier to follow the trails that lead him to the meeting point. It might be because it’s his own spell now that Leon has a stone as well.

Snow crunches under the horse’s hooves as he picks his ways through the trees. He keeps a steady stream of magic flowing behind them as they go, covering their tracks. Knights till patrol from the citadel out to every border, and it wouldn’t do to get caught because the snow displayed tracks so obviously.

When he arrives at the meeting point, he exchanges the required greeting with Leon. Then Leon drags him into one of those hugs that Merlin has only ever seen the knights do, hauling each other in by clasped hands and slapping each other on the back. When they pull back, Leon pats his cheek with an amused crinkle to his eyes.

“You don’t look like goofy little Merlin anymore.” Leon says.

Merlin scratches at the beard that has grown in properly now. It is far easier to keep a tidy beard than it is to keep a smooth face these days.

“Can’t remember the last time I looked in the mirror.”

“It suits you. You almost look as powerful as you are.”

Merlin laughs and punches Leon on the arm, “I am going to take that as compliment.”

“As you should.” Leon agrees, then turns and clicks his tongue. His horse trots into the clearing with a rider on its back. A young woman is perched on its back, clutching a bundle to her chest, “Give me some help getting her down?”

Merlin walks over, and accepts the bundle that the woman settles in his arms. It’s a baby. It’s so little that it still looks vaguely like squished clay.

“He can’t do magic yet, but his father had to flee. I was worried he might have magic too, but I couldn’t leave while I was pregnant. It would have put him at risk.” The woman explains as Leon helps her dismount.

“We’ll try to reunite you two with him, but I can’t promise anything. We don’t write anything down for a reason.” Merlin says.

The woman smiles gratefully, “Just getting us out of there you have done so much. Of course I would love to find my husband again, but it is more important that my son is safe.”

Merlin’s heart clenches painfully. She reminds him so much of his own mother. She, too, had always fought to make sure Merlin was safe. She’d sent him to Camelot to keep him safe from Cenred, and had been hysterical when the news reached her that Uther had started a purge. The messenger Merlin sent to her to let her know he was safe hadn’t been able to calm her, and Merlin had spent the better part of two weeks going to comfort her. He misses her terribly, now more than ever.

Leon helps the woman mount up on the brown horse, and Merlin carefully passes her her son. Thankfully, he sleeps through the whole thing.

“Leon, wait. I need you for a moment.” Merlin says as Leon makes to mount his own horse.

“What is it?”

Merlin nods his head to indicate that they should go deeper into the woods, and Leon follows. When they have gotten far enough away from the woman, Merlin turns to face him.

“I need you to get a message to Arthur.” 

Leon nods, leaning closer, “Has something happened?”

“Not yet.” Merlin says, and Leon sucks in some air. The seriousness of Merlin’s words hang over them both.

“When should I tell him to meet you?”

“As soon as he can get away safely. No later than the end of the week. It’s urgent, but it won’t help if he gets himself thrown in the dungeons.”

Leon nods, mouth pinched in a grim line, “I’ll let him know.”

“Thank you, Leon.”

“Anytime, my friend.” Leon promises, then mounts his horse. He starts his perilous ride back through the woods.

Merlin watches him go, anxiety twisting in his chest. Whenever one of his friends rides away, he gets this wave of dread that he won’t ever see them again. Then a wave of guilt follows that because if they don’t come back it’ll be because Uther has had them killed, and it’ll be because they helped Merlin. As he watches Leon go, he whispers a blessing of the old religion, and lets himself believe that his magic will make it work like a spell, “Āfare unpleólíce.”

He sleeps fitfully the next few days. When they think he can’t hear him, the man and woman from that fire try to recruit people to their cause. So far, Iseldir and Aglain have enough influence that they don’t get very far. Still, the colder and more desperate they get, the more likely they are to turn to harsher methods.

Merlin is huddled near the fire on the fourth night of waiting, when a sparkling trails erupts in his peripheral vision. Arthur. Took him long enough.

Merlin doesn’t even bother to say goodbye, just jumps to his feet and runs for the brown horse. It huffs at him, indicating annoyance at having been pulled out of his slumber. Merlin whispers an apology to it, and kicks his heels against its side. It trots off, following the path winding through the air.

He nearly collides with Arthur in his rush to get to him. They both pull up short, causing the horses to rear. Merlin nearly slides off into the snow, but Arthur reaches out and pulls the brown horse back down by its bridle.

“You always were a terrible seat.” Arthur teases.

“You saw where I grew up.” Merlin points out.

Arthur chuckles, but it’s strained. They wait for their horses to fully settle before dismounting. They tie them to the nearest tree, brush some snow off a fallen log, then huddle close for warmth. Merlin would start a fire but they are far too close to Camelot for comfort.

They don’t talk at first. Then Arthur reaches up and scratches fingers through Merlin’s beard, a small smile on his lips.

“When did you stop being my Merlin?”

“What?”

Arthur chuckles, cupping Merlin’s cheek now and running his thumb against Merlin’s cheek, “You were so lanky and awkward when I first met you. Now you have a beard, and actual muscles.”

“I always had muscles, they just weren’t for show like yours.” 

“Are you accusing me of vanity?”

“I did catch you fixing your hair in a dinner tray once when you were trying to woo that one maid,” Merlin says, “What was her name? Elsie?”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur grumbles.

Merlin grins, “Don’t be such a clotpole.”

Arthur shakes his head, rolling his eyes. He leans in, and for several long moments they kiss. When they are breathless with it, they finally pull back. Arthur’s hand remains warm against Merlin’s cheek.

“Leon said you needed to discuss something with me.” Arthur reminds him.

Merlin sucks in a shaky breath and nods, “There are talks of war.”

“War.” Arthur’s voice goes hard. It always does when he’s trying to hide his emotions.

“People are sick of hiding. They don’t want to keep being hunted like rats. A few of them have said they want to take the fight to Uther.”

Arthur’s hand drops from Merlin’s cheek, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I don’t want the war anywhere near the citadel!” Merlin nearly shouts, “I don’t care if Uther dies. I wish there was another way to take him down because he’s your father and you care for him, but if he keeled over tomorrow then he would deserve it. But the people in the lower town are just trying to keep themselves protected. If an army storms the citadel who knows how many of them would get hurt!”

Arthur scowls, sitting away from Merlin, “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we needed to talk. We need to take Uther down without hurting anyone else.”

“Are you suggesting that I kill my own father?”

“No! Yes? No. I don’t know. Arthur, please help me out here.”

Arthur sags tiredly, forehead coming to rest on Merlin’s shoulder. He takes a few steady breaths that Merlin can feel through the fabric of his shirt.

“I know what he’s doing is wrong. I want to stop him, but…”

“But?” Merlin prompts.

“But he’s my father,” Arthur says desperately, “He’s my father, Merlin. I can’t just… I can’t betray him more than I already have.”

“I swear I’m not asking you to kill him,” Merlin promises, “But we have to think of something. I don’t know how long I can hold them off.”

He slides his hands into Arthur’s and holds on tightly, trying to offer an anchor. He knew even before coming that Arthur killing Uther would be out of the question. He never intended to ask. No matter how much he hates Uther, he loves Arthur. He would never ask Arthur to do something that could hurt him.

“What do I do?” Arthur asks softly.

Merlin shakes his head and presses a kiss to Arthur’s hair, “I can’t tell you that.”

“The only option I have that isn’t killing him, is forcing him out. If I do either one, even if I am successful, the council will never trust me. They will seek to exploit my weaknesses just like I did to him.”

Merlin is suddenly overwhelmed. It isn’t fair. Arthur shouldn’t need to worry about ruling for several years yet. Merlin shouldn’t need to be holding the line to prevent a war against an unjust king. They should just be Merlin and Arthur. They should still be running around getting into and out of trouble like they have been. He feels like he’s starting to drown in despair.

“You could just tell him you’ve been sneaking out to kiss a sorcerer every few weeks. That would probably give him a heart attack.” Merlin jokes, desperately clinging to humor so that he isn’t swept away.

Arthur snorts loudly and shoves Merlin playfully, “I think that is still technically murder, Merlin.”

“It would be his heart that killed him.” Merlin says, grinning.

“I swear to find a way to get him out of the way. You just need to keep buying me time.”

“I’ll do my best.” 

They fall into silence again, but it’s slightly lighter than before. Some of the tension has been broken. Merlin shivers a little, and Arthur pulls him closer.

“Did you really summon a fog so thick no one could see past their own nose at the last battle?” Arthur asks.

“They were getting too close for comfort,” Merlin says with a shrug, “I needed to give people a way of escape.”

_They were surrounded. Pellinore had brought a much larger collection of knights than they were expecting. Redirection spells are useless against so many. Merlin recognizes some of them, men he thought were his friends. He doesn’t want to hurt them._

Arthur grins, “They won’t admit it, but you embarrassed them. They tried to make it seem like it was something evil holding them in place, but I don’t think anyone has bought it.”

_Terrified yelps as the fog blew in. Horses whinnying as their hooves caught on roots. Sorcerers fleeing. Merlin alone. Merlin holding the line, again._

“Does that mean you’re proud of me?” Merlin asks, returning Arthur’s smile.

Arthur schools his expression, but his mouth keeps turning up at the corners, “Of course not. I’m meant to be in charge of them. If you embarrass them, then you embarrass me.”

“Oh,” Merlin says taking on an expression of false seriousness, “Of course. I offer my sincerest apologies, sire.”

Arthur looks at him then, expression actually solemn, “Don’t.”

Wrong-footed, Merlin leans back, “Don’t what?”

“I am not your king, nor am I your prince. You shouldn’t have to call me sire.”

Merlin lets out an incredulous laugh, and squeezes Arthur’s hands again, “Arthur. _You_ will always by my king.”

Arthur frowns, looking at their joined hands, “How can I be when I’m not strong enough to stop him?”

“You bloody knight.” Merlin says with exasperation.

“What does that mean?” Arthur asks, confusion shocking the darkness from his shoulders.

“You think the only way you solve problems is by charging head on,” Merlin says with a roll of his eyes, “You and your bloody tourneys and sparring. Some problems can’t be hacked to death. This is just the first time you’ve had to use cleverness instead of brute force.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows, “Are you saying I’m not clever?”

“I’m saying you forget that you can, at times, be somewhat capable of cleverness.”

“Thank you.” Arthur says dryly.

“You can’t doubt yourself, Arthur. Enough people are going to do that for you. You have to trust yourself, and trust your friends.”

“A king can’t have friends.”

“Good thing you’re just a prat in a crown then.”

“I do mean it, though.” Arthur insists, “We are, for now at least, equals in this fight. If Leon has earned the right to call me Arthur at all times, you have long since earned it as well.”

“Bloody knight.” Merlin mutters again just to make Arthur smile. It has the desired effect.

“Way to ruin the moment, Merlin.”

“You were getting too serious. It isn’t a good look on you.”

Arthur hauls him close again, and Merlin tucks his head under Arthur’s chin. It’s taken several of these meetings for Arthur to grow comfortable being gentle with Merlin. At first he’d stuck to the general rough housing they’d grown used to in Camelot, but now he holds Merlin close like he’s afraid it will be the last time. It might be. Nothing is guaranteed. 

“How long can you stay?” Merlin asks, hiding his cold nose against Arthur’s throat.

“I’ve been too long already. Father has cracked down on people leaving the city. They are only allowed to take horses when they are scheduled.” Arthur answers, “It might be a few months before we see each other again.”

Merlin groans, “I hate that. I want you to stay with me.”

“One day, you’ll be at my side in the castle and I know hell will freeze over before you let us be separated again.”

“Even if hell does freeze, the devil himself will have to make an appearance before I’ll even consider it.”

“Quite right.” Arthur says, and stands.

Merlin goes with him, not ready to separate just yet. Arthur’s hand cradles Merlin’s cheek again, and he leans in for another kiss.

“Kissing with a beard is strange.” He says when he pulls away.

“Way to ruin the moment.” Merlin teases.

Arthur just rolls his eyes, and kisses Merlin again. Together they untie the horses, and they both reluctantly mount their rides again.

“I will work on a plan.” Arthur promises.

“Make it fast. I really don’t know how long we have.” Merlin says, repeating his warning.

Arthur nods, looking regal in the moonlight. They share one last look, then Arthur rides away. Merlin watches his retreating from, and much like with Leon, he whispers “Āfare unpleólíce.”


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur hates council meetings. To be fair, he’s always hated them. They drag on for hours because the damn councilors are too worried about upsetting Uther to come out and say what they actually mean, and they’re so dull. Arthur knows he needs to pay attention. When he becomes king he needs to be able to keep his people safe from more than just invaders, he’ll need to prevent starvation if he can and settle disputes between his subjects before they become contentious. 

No matter what amount logic he throws at the problem, however, has stopped him from nodding off.

Now, council meetings are a different beast entirely. Yes, there are still matters of grain distribution and taxes. The thing is, the meeting will drag on and just when Arthur has been lulled into thinking everything is normal, Uther will swoop in and casually mention the need to execute another sorcerer. Arthur will one second be going cross-eyed from staring at a document on bridge repairs for too long, the next he has to fight to remain unaffected as Uther requests funds from his councilors to plan another attack or purchase fire wood for a pyre.

His only solace in these meetings is that the councilors seem to be denying funds to Uther for pyres. Arthur can’t save everybody, no matter how badly it sits in his stomach, and it brings him some comfort that the very few magic users caught in Camelot at least have the dignity of quick death.

He still wakes, heart pounding in his chest, most mornings. Nightmarish visions of himself being burned flash behind his eyes. Worse are the times he wakes with image of Merlin burning. The idea of Merlin burning is enough to leave him pale and shaking for days.

Arthur’s chair digs into his back hard enough that it makes his arm tingle, but he doesn’t shift to get more comfortable. He needs the discomfort to keep him awake as a ruddy faced councilor drones on about a recently flooded farm. Snow melt had swollen he riverbank to breaking, and the farmer in question is requesting aid. It should be straight forward, but everyone talks in circles about it.

Across from him, Leon looks just as frustrated. They exchange glances, but look away before they can make each other laugh. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to themselves.

“And you’re sure it was just snow melt?” Uther asks, eyes gleaming.

The councilor nods sagely, and passes Uther a document, “As you can see it happens in that area from time to time. If the snow fall is heavy, then those who rely on the river are often struck with flooding.”

“Send a man tomorrow at first light to investigate.” Uther instructs.

A few of the councilors shift uneasily. This isn’t the protocol, and they know it. They’ve never been stingy about handing out aid unless it was a bad year. Despite the purge, the crops have flourished, and the taxes have been steady. It’s been a good year, and they would have sent out a knight with some gold to do a cursory check before handing it over.

“Sire?”

“I suspect sorcery.” Uther announces, “How unusual that this man’s farm floods every year at the same time.”

“But Sire—”

“We must be ever vigilant. If this farmer has nothing to hide then he will get his gold, but not a moment before. Is that clear?”

A chorus of agreement goes up along the table. Arthur joins in out of habit. He has a feeling that he isn’t going to like the next agenda item. 

“Speaking of sorcery,” Uther says and lounges back in his chair regally, “I fear we may have become lax in our approach to clearing magic from the kingdom. We need to redouble our efforts.”

“What is your plan, your majesty?” one of the councilors.

Arthur remains leaning back in the chair. He schools his face, and focuses on the document in front of him. He looks as bored as can be, just as Uther expects of him.

All pretense is calm when the double door crash open. They bounce off the walls with an almighty bang that echoes from the stone walls, making it louder. Morgana stands in the doorway, looking scarier than Arthur has ever seen her. He would think she was using magic to enhance the effect but her eyes are missing the gold gleam that he’s used to seeing.

Even without the aid of magic in her eyes, they’re wild with anger. Her fists are clenched at her side, and she has a determined set to her jaw that has always spelled trouble for anyone who dare defy her. Arthur has been on the receiving end of that look too many times for comfort.

“How dare you, Uther Pendragon?” she shouts.

Uther stands from his seat, face thunderous, “Now is not the time, Morgana.”

“You will make it the time!” she snarls, advancing across the room, “Do you really intend to burn a druid village to the ground?”

“That is none of your business.”

“So it is true! There are children there! They have done nothing and yet you sweep in like you have any right to condemn them!”

“You will shut your mouth, or you will not like the consequences.” Uther growls.

Arthur exchanges a wide-eyed look with Leon. Morgana hasn’t been happy about keeping quiet, but she’s tolerated it for the sake of getting magic users out. They can’t tell why she would need to speak up now of all times.

“What will you do, Uther? Will you burn me like you’ve burned all these innocent people?” Morgana challenges, and somehow during the look Arthur exchanged with Leon she had managed to get right into Uther’s face.

Arthur feels stuck. It’s like he’s watching a play. The action is happening in front of him, but he is helpless to stop it. All he would need to do is step between them, but he can’t move his legs. They may as well not even exist. 

“Do not challenge me,” Uther says dangerously, “I am your father, and more importantly I am your king.”

“You are no father to me,” Morgana sneers, green eyes flashing with anger, “And you are a poor excuse for a king if you can’t accept the consequences of your actions.”

Uther sucks in some air and reels back. For one heart-stopping moment Arthur is convinced Uther is going to hit Morgana. He’s never hit either of them before, even if he’d been too harsh in other ways. Arthur flinches, and Uther must notice that much of his council does the same. He drops his hand, and takes a step back. Morgana has still not moved an inch.

“Guards, please escort the Lady Morgana to the cells,” he says calmly, “I believe she needs some time to cool her head.”

The guards stride forward, and catch Morgana by the elbows. She does not resist arrest, but she glares at Uther. Her accusing gaze never leaves his face. Even when the double doors swing shut again, Arthur can feel her eyes on them through the wood.

Uther returns to his seat, steely gaze landing on the councilors closest to him.

“This is why we must rid Camelot of all magic,” he explains, cool and detached, “It corrupts from the very inside. The Lady Morgana has betrayed me on its behalf.”

Arthur’s insides run with ice. They need Morgana if they’re going to have any chance of winning this. More importantly, she’s his sister. He can’t lose her to execution. He’s already lost both of his parents. All he has left of his family is her.

“With all due respect, Father,” Arthur chimes in calmly and waits for Uther to turn and look at him, “I don’t believe Morgana has betrayed you. She’s always liked to oppose your rules at first, or whenever it was fashionable to her. I’m sure you remember the frog incident.”

She’d been forbidden to keep a frog as a pet. The next day Uther has woken to find that not only did Morgana bring a frog into her chambers, she released upwards of ten frogs into his. Arthur’s mother thought it was hilarious. Arthur’s heart aches a bit at the memory. He’s been so caught up in this war that he hasn’t had time to miss her. He feels like an awful son.

Uther considers his words for a moment, then his tense shoulders settle. An amused smile passes over his features, and Arthur feels sick.

“You are right, of course. She’s always been troublesome. It is a relief to know she has not been taken from me. A few days will set her right.”

Arthur chuckles as if Morgana being locked away for disobeying is the funniest thing in the world, and the other council members laugh as well. The tension in the air ebbs.

“You were going to inform us of a new plan.” A councilor reminds him.

Uther nods, “Of course. Well, the Lady Morgana has informed you of some of it. We have caught wind of a semi-permanent settlement of druids about a day’s ride away from our border with Essetir.”

For the second time, icy panic grips Arthur. He can feel its finger creeping through his chest. That settlement is where Merlin has settled, and he’s even more important to ending this war than Morgana. If he gets captured, there will be no one from preventing an invasion of the citadel. All their careful work will be up in smoke. And, worse, if Uther recognizes Merlin at his sham of a trial, suspicion will fall on Arthur. Before all this, Arthur would have been convinced his father would banish him at worst, but this new man who sits where his father once did will lose no sleep over burning Arthur too. There will be no one to counteract Uther’s power from the inside.

He flicks his eyes to Leon. He’s doing an admirable job of appearing calm and unruffled, but Arthur has been working closely enough to be able to tell the difference. Leon is afraid.

Uther drones on like he just didn’t upset months of work, and Arthur tunes him out. Already he is formulating a plan to keep the plan moving. Acceptable losses worked last time, but his stomach twists unpleasantly when he considers putting Merlin’s people in harm’s way again. 

“Arthur will lead.” Uther announces

Arthur sits bolt upright, and look to Uther, “I will?”

“I have kept you as a common guard for too long. You are a knight, you deserve to lead in battle.”

Arthur grins like he’s never been more pleased in his entire life. Of all the times for Uther to finally recognize that Arthur is good at what he does.

“Thank you. I will not let you down.”

Uther claps him on the shoulder, and Arthur fights the shiver of revulsion slinking its way up his back.

“I know you won’t. Now, I think we can call this meeting to an end. Any objections?”

The council is dismissed, and Arthur walks over to Leon. He pretends to be talking strategy about the raid, and does so loudly enough that Uther won’t grow suspicious. The second they are out of his sight, Arthur ducks into an empty room with Leon hot on his heels.

“You need to go to Merlin. He needs to be warned about what’s coming.”

“What will you do? You can’t lead that raid.” Leon asks, voice pitched low even in the room.

“I have to figure something out. If I don’t, my father will grow suspicious.”

“You could break your leg?” Leon suggests.

Arthur wishes he could laugh. It should be a ridiculous option, not a feasible one. 

“If I break my leg then I can’t keep smuggling, or going to speak with Merlin. It would leave you to do everything, and we are working together so that neither of us are caught.” 

“I’ll go to Merlin. Maybe he can think of something to help, but you need a plan.”

Arthur nods tightly, “I know. I’ll think of one.”

“Good luck.” Leon says as he heads for the door.

“To you as well.” Arthur replies.

With Leon gone, he needs to speak with Morgana. He needs to know what the hell she was hoping to accomplish, and hopefully convince her not to publically challenge Uther again. Their operation is delicate. One wrong move could send it all tumbling down.

He jogs down the stairs, ignoring the looks the guards send him. They probably think he’s going to reprimand on the king’s orders. They’re half right.

Morgana is locked in a solitary cell. It wouldn’t do to let the lady of the castle languish in the dungeons with all the rats and sorcerers after all. That might raise some eyebrows, and Uther can ill afford scrutiny at the moment.

Arthur unlocks the door, and steps inside. Morgana is sitting primly, back against the wall. Her blue dress is spread neatly around her like she’s taking a picnic, not being punished. She looks up as he enters, and her smile is almost mad at the edges.

“How proud you must be, Son of the Mighty Uther.” 

“Morgana.” He says, trying to keep his voice level.

“How proud you must be,” she sneers, “Does the King’s Little Helper come with a message, or have you just come to gloat?”

“You know that’s not fair.”

Some of the madness leaves her eyes, and she glances away. It’s the closest thing he’ll get to an admission of guilt from her.

“I forget, sometimes, that you’re on our side.” She admits softly.

“I can’t let you out, he’d get suspicious.”

“I understand.” 

Arthur sighs, and frees his eyes from his belt. He can’t let her out of the cell, but he can at least free her from the shackles. Already her wrists are beginning to bruise from the rough metal. He crouches in front of her, and turns the key in the lock.

“Why do you kick off with him?” Arthur asks, voice cracking slightly, “What if he figures it out? I can’t lose you too, Morgana.”

“As long as he claims me as his ward, and not his bastard like we all know I am, he can’t hurt me. If he breaks his promise to a dead man, no kingdom will ever treat with him again. I can kick off with relative safety, and hope that some of those fools he calls advisors listen.” She explains, and takes his hands in hers, “We have both learned a lesson recently. Sometimes you must do what is right, and damn the consequences.”

Arthur nods, and squeezes her hands, “I know we like to tease each other, and most of our conversations are sarcastic, but I rely on you to help me with this. I need you to be careful.”

“Who knew Arthur Pendragon could be so gentle?” she says with a wicked smile, but she doesn’t let go of his hands.

“I am not gentle.” He grumbles halfheartedly.

She raises one perfect eyebrow, and the teasing smile grows, “Is that what you tell Merlin?”

“Morgana!”

She laughs, and her face creases into a proper smile like he hasn’t seen since before the purge, “Well what else am I supposed to think of with all of those clandestine late-night meetings? I know you kissed him after Ealdor.”

Arthur glances over his shoulder, checking for guards. They are alone for now.

“He’s my friend.” he answers, trying to infuse his voice with all the things he feels but can’t put words to.

Morgana seems to understand. Her face softens, losing some of its teasing edge. Neither of them are good at saying what they mean. They’ve built a secret language with tone. She pats his cheek once like the obnoxious older sister that she is and sits back against the wall once more.

“You better go. Uther will have your head if he finds out you were here for much longer.” She reminds him.

_I want you to be careful too._

Arthur straightens and dusts some of the straw off his clothes. He wants nothing more than to turn around and take Morgana with him out of the cells, but they both know he can’t. It would risk everything they’ve been fighting for. He hopes that she forgives him for walking away.

“I’ll be back tonight. I’ll bring you dinner.” He promises instead.

_You won’t be alone._

“Thank you.”

“I’m only doing it because you’re a nightmare when you’re hungry.” He jokes.

_I love you._

She smiles sweetly at him, blinks her eyes innocently, “Try to shut the door on your head on the way out?”

_I love you too._

Arthur snorts softly in amusement, and closes the door behind him. The wood is old and worn. It isn’t splintering, but it wouldn’t take much to break it down. Morgana had apparently gotten fairly strong during her lessons with Merlin. It probably wouldn’t take much for her to blow it off its hinges.

He wishes she would. For a moment he wants her to rub it in Uther’s face that he helped create a powerful sorceress. He wants her to flee to safety among the druids, no matter how badly he doesn’t want to be on his own. Leon is a good friend, but they barely see each other outside of council meetings and training. Morgana really is all he has right now.

He turns his back on the door, and climbs the steps. He can’t focus on himself. He needs to come up with a plan. He needs a way to lead the raid without leading it, and he fully intends to have it figured out by the time Leon returns. He owes his people that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin go to battle against each other. We meet a familiar face.

It’s Leon.

Merlin fights back the disappointment. Arthur had warned him that they may not see each other for several months, but that doesn’t make it easier. Every time the path illuminates, Merlin’s heart does a backflip in his chest at the prospect of seeing Arthur again. Every time he finds Leon standing there, his heart drops.

It’s exhausting. He just wants to go home. When did home become Camelot? When did home become _Arthur_?

“Good to see you, Leon!” Merlin calls.

Leon stops short, squinting through the trees. Merlin steps out to make himself more obvious, and some of the tension bleeds from Leon’s shoulders. There’s still something wrong. Leon isn’t smiling like he usually does when he spots Merlin. His eyebrows are drawn together in a sharp wrinkle, his mouth is turned down.

“It’s not good news, is it?” Merlin guesses.

Leon shakes his head, “Afraid not.”

Merlin resists the urge to kick the nearest tree. He never understood Arthur’s temper back when it was just the two of them in Camelot. He understands now though, or at least a little. The weight on their shoulders is suffocating. Merlin spends most of his days wanting to lash out at anyone who even looks at him. Arthur has been bearing that weight since he was young, too young really. It makes sense that he’d turn into an uncompromising ass.

“What’s happened?”

“Uther has called another raid.”

“Well we got rid of them once before, shouldn’t be a problem to do it again.” Merlin says with a shrug.

Leon grimaces.

“There’s more.”

“Arthur is leading.”

Merlin feels like he’s been struck. He staggers back and sits heavily on a root, trying to steady his racing heart. His brain just can’t make sense of this. No way has Arthur betrayed them. He wouldn’t do that.

“Uther informed the whole council that it was time he gave Arthur his full responsibilities as Prince and First Knight. Arthur couldn’t protest without drawing suspicions.” Leon explains.

Merlin drops his head between his knees for a moment, relieved tears prickling at his eyes.

“So he didn’t betray us.”

“No. You know as well as I that he never would.”

Merlin nods shakily, “The way you said it.”

“My apologies. I should have been clearer.”

“What do I do, Leon? I can’t fight him.”

Leon claps him on the shoulder, expression drawn and serious, “You have to, Merlin. Or at least make a good show of pretending. Arthur is going to do his best, but you must protect your people, even if it means hurting Arthur in the process.”

Merlin sits straighter, frowning, “No. I—”

“Arthur understands the risks. He wouldn’t have agreed if he wasn’t sure that the cause was worth dying for,” Leon holds up his hand to stifle another protest, “I’m not saying you have to kill him, but I am saying to do what needs to be done.”

Merlin sags again, and shoots Leon what might pass as an amused look, “I see why Arthur listens to your advice.”

Leon smiles, “And I see why he is willing to risk himself for you.”

“So what do I do?”

“You prepare for battle.”

*

The camp is silent that night. The news of another raid has set everyone on edge. They were able to survive the last one with a great deal of luck and trickery, but even so they lost a few people. Going through another one seems daunting. Merlin carefully left out Arthur’s involvement, and he doesn’t want to think about how much more scared everyone would be if they knew the Crown Prince of Camelot was riding out to meet them.

In the morning, Merlin helps pack. Anyone who can fight stays, but there are plenty without the magic needed to defend the camp. A few have no magic at all, and were simply there because they seemed to sympathetic to their plight. Only one of them knows how to fight with a sword.

Even with magic on their side, Merlin doesn’t like their odds. Arthur fighting intentionally poorly, as Merlin hopes is the plan, does little to comfort him. Arthur can’t afford to be obvious, and no doubt he will cause injuries. It’s going to make it all the harder for the people to trust him when he takes up his role as king.

Merlin shrugs off the dark thoughts. Worry makes for poor company, as Gwen always said. He has to trust that Arthur knows what he’s doing. He’s never liked putting faith in anything besides himself, but he thinks maybe Arthur is worthy of that faith. Or is, at least, trying to be worthy of that faith, which in the end is the same thing really.

By afternoon those who cannot join the battle have all scattered. It is unlikely that Merlin will see any of them again. He wishes he could feel upset by it, but he never really learned any of their names. Iseldir and Aglain left after a smaller raid hit another band of refugees in the west, and Merlin is now the unofficial leader of his group.

He does not envy Arthur’s future as king. He can’t wait to give up leadership, and go back to running around after Arthur. Funny how he misses washing socks now that he’s fighting for his life.

All that’s left to do is wait. Leon didn’t give Merlin a date for the raid, but he doubts that Uther would wait very long to move. They sleep in shifts in order to keep watch, and Merlin can pretend that he’s out on patrol once more. He misses Camelot. He misses Gwen, and Morgana. He misses Gaius’s terrible cooking. He misses Arthur. He’s lost so much, and it’s like he keeps losing.

A rider comes back on the morning of the third day. Arthur has arrived.

Merlin gets to his feet, and looks out over the assembled fighters. How Arthur does this with his knights, he will never understand. He takes a deep breath, and tries to smile.

“We all know the plan. If you start to get overwhelmed, don’t cocky. Disengage if you can. Stay alive.”

He’s met with solemn nods. Then everyone turns, and follows him to meet Arthur’s party. They plant themselves a few paces away from the entrance to the valley, hoping to force Arthur’s forces to narrow their formation. Funny the things he picked up listening to Arthur train knights.

They hear the party before they see them. The crash of stampeding hooves echo ominously against the walls of the valley, and the vibrations make Merlin feel like he’s standing on the back of a massive breathing creature.

He grits his teeth to prevent himself from reacting when he sees Arthur. It’s not fair that the first time he sees Arthur in full battle-glory they are standing on opposite sides of a line that neither of them drew. Arthur signals his forces to stop, and he reins Llamrei in so he can look down his nose with infuriating superiority that Merlin knows is false.

“I assume you know why we’re here, sorcerer.” Arthur says coldly.

Merlin tilts his head up defiantly, surprised by how easily he can slide into the role of Arthur’s enemy, “Come to massacre yet more innocent people, my lord?”

He thinks Arthur’s lips might twitch a little, like he’s fighting back a smile, “Surrender now, and there will be no need for a massacre. You can return to Camelot for trial.”

“I think we’ve has enough of Uther’s justice.”

“Very well then,” Arthur says, “Then stand and fight.”

“Ready when you are.”

Arthur shoots him a look that is so obviously apologetic, that Merlin glances around to the soldiers to make sure they haven’t seen. It wouldn’t do to blow their cover. Then Arthur drops his hand, and chaos reigns.

He loses sight of Arthur in the battle. It seems impossible to keep both himself safe as well as Arthur, so Merlin choses himself. He hates every second of it, but he knows that Arthur would want him to live to keep fighting. He’s always had that streak of nobility to him, no matter what Morgana used to say. Merlin only helped bring it to the surface in times of peace as well as war.

He flings a hand out, tossing another solider away from him. The man hits the wall of the valley with a thud, and Merlin winces. He used to love being able to feel the magic in everything, he still does, but feeling the magic bleed from a person back into the earth is unpleasant to say the least.

He finds Arthur in the mass of bodies, and almost bursts into laughter. He could not be more obviously trying not to hurt people. His blade doesn’t have a single drop of blood on it. Instead he keeps knocking people over the head, sending them to the ground unconscious, but alive. Merlin’s chest bursts with joy. Even now Arthur is trying to protect.

A noise behind him catches his attention, and he turns on his heel. One of the soldiers is standing there, eyes fixed on Arthur. He opens his mouth, and Merlin reacts unthinkingly. The soldier is going to report Arthur, Arthur will be dragged home as a traitor, Merlin will lose him. That has never gone well for anyone.

His magic bursts free, throwing the soldier across the valley. The ripple of his magic spreads outward. Around Merlin, five more soldiers are thrown as well. 

He refuses to lose Arthur.

The world slows around him like the night with the dagger. A sorcerer raises their hand, preparing to strike Arthur down. On one side stands the man Merlin trusts with his very life, on the other stands someone like himself. Nimueh’s words echo back to him after all these months. In the end the choice isn’t difficult. He sends the sorcerer to sleep, cutting off the spell before it has even begun.

Arthur looks at him then, eyebrows raised. Merlin offers him a shrug. Arthur glances around the clearing, corners of his mouth drawn down. The sorcerers are winning. Granted, not by much, but they are winning all the same. Merlin is sure Arthur is as conflicted as him. He doesn’t want to soldiers just following orders to die, nor does he want his people to suffer.

“Fall back!” Arthur shouts.

The soldiers around him give one last push against their combatants, and then flee the valley. Arthur follows behind them. He catches Merlin’s eye again, and they take the opportunity to simply look at each other. They may not get another chance for a long time after this. Arthur nods, once, and then disappears behind the crags of rock.

The sorcerers let up a cheer. Their victory has been hard fought.

The celebration dies off, and the work begins. By the time they carry all the injured back to camp where the few healers are waiting, Merlin is sweating. He collapses next to the stream, too tired even to make himself lay down. 

A pair of boots appear in his field of vision, and he looks up. There’s a man about his age standing there, bowl of stew extended to him. He has dark eyes, dark hair, and a handsome solemn face. Merlin has definitely never seen him before.

“Who are you?”

The man smiles and presses the bowl to Merlin’s chest so he’s forced to take it, “I’m Lancelot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying the fic? Want to make sure the author has enough serotonin to keep putting out content?  
> [ Consider reblogging this on tumblr.](https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/post/630827055141076992/the-lines-are-drawn-chapter-9) That would be cool of you.


	10. Chapter 10

The shouting in the hallway is what catches Arthur’s attention. He looks up from the notes from the last council meeting, and the beginnings of the plans to move against Uther’s men written in careful code only he and Leon can read, and listens intently. One of the voices sounds higher than the rest, feminine and enraged. Cold dread spreads through his arms as his stomach drops from under him. Morgana.

He leaps to his feet and rushes out the doors of hid chamber. Morgana is being buoyed along by two guards. Each one has clasped her by one of her arms, just udder her elbow, making it difficult for her to escape even if she’d been a fully grown man such as them. She’s spitting like a feral cat none the less, and yanking her arms as hard as she can to try to dislodge their death grip.

“What is the meaning of this?” Arthur demands with all the command he can muster.

The guards pull up short, and turn to him. Morgana continues to struggle against them, and underneath her mask of anger, Arthur can see the terror. He can see the desperate creases around her eyes, the little hitching breaths as she tries not to whimper. It’s bone chilling. The last time he saw her this terrified was… the morning of the questing beast. Damn.

“The King has ordered us to escort the Lady Morgana to the dungeons, Sire.” One of the guards answers like he’s commenting on the weather.

“Surely there must be some kind of misunderstanding. What call would my father have to lock up his ward?”

“She interrupted the council meeting, and insulted The King in front of his most trusted advisors, Sire.” The same guard responds.

Arthur tries not to let his own panic show on his face. If Uther is taking secret council meetings, then it’s going to make aiding Merlin infinitely more difficult. He can’t plan for what he doesn’t know. He used to think that he knew Uther well enough to guess his next move, or at least get pretty close. Given Uther’s current mental state, he’s not sure if that’s true anymore. The man he knew would never have executed children, but somewhere along the line children became an acceptable casualty in this war.

He draws himself up to his full height, straightens his shoulders, and bluffs like his life depends on it, “Well now I know there’s been a misunderstanding. I was not informed of this meeting, and as Crown Prince I am informed of all council business. Let go of the Lady Morgana.”

“I cannot speak to that, sire,” the guard responds, “only that I am doing what I was told. I would prefer you take it up with The King, Sire, if it’s all the same to you. I do not wish to anger him.”

Arthur glances at Morgana. She stares at him with wide eyes, uncharacteristically silent through the duration of this exchange. She’s still terrified, but Arthur can’t figure out what she wants him to do. His position is too delicate to force the guards to let her go.

“Morgana,” he says evenly, “I’ll be down to release you as soon as I’ve spoken to my father. I’m sure we can clear up whatever this is. You two do so tend to rile each other up.”

Morgana’s face creases in even more terror at his words, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting. She’s just one more person that he’s failing, one more person who needs protection he cannot give. It turns his stomach.

“Of course, Arthur,” she responds and Arthur takes a moment to admire how steady her voice is despite her obvious distress, “I will see you soon. Do tell Uther that if my dress gets ruined because of this, he will owe me a new one.”

Arthur chuckles and tries not to wince at how forced it sounds to his ears. Thankfully, these guards must be particularly dull because they don’t react at all to his discomfort. Morgana tosses her hair, and regally lifts her chin like she wasn’t just being dragged through the castle kicking and screaming. She glides along, matching pace with the guards effortlessly.

When her dark hair and blue dress are no longer visible around the corner, Arthur closes his chamber doors and locks them tight. Only Merlin has the other key so no one should be able to get inside. Even if they did they wouldn’t be able to read his notes anyway, but it might stir Uther’s suspicion. He doesn’t have time to go back in and hide them away, however, he has to figure out a way to get Morgana out of the dungeons.

He strides down the corridors to Uther’s room, head up and confident. Servants scatter out of his way, scurrying like mice into hidden alcoves to avoid the cat. He hates that he has this kind of influence on people now. The servants always respected him before, Merlin excluded, but none of them have ever feared him. 

It is a direct result of Uther’s actions, Arthur knows. He has the power to end them all now; even over perceived slights. If he decided one of them looked at him funny, all he would have to do is tell Uther that he caught them doing magic, and suddenly their whole family would be headed for the pyre. Arthur has never wanted to rule his kingdom through fear. He’d always hoped that when his time came, he’d be respected for his fairness and justness. He hasn’t a clue how his rule will look after this. The People may never trust the house of Pendragon again.

He reaches Uther’s chambers and stops himself before he goes barreling through the door. With the mood Uther is in, Arthur can’t afford to irritate him. Strange how even a few months ago he could pop his head in without knocking, and now he’s relegated to standing in the hallway waiting for permission to enter.

“Come in!” Uther’s voice comes through the heavy wood doors.

Arthur steps in with a friendly smile on his face, and fixes it in place when he takes in the sight before him. Uther is hunched over his table, eyeing a map. His eyes are blood shot and wild. His hands shake as he holds a quill. Most disconcerting of all, his grey hair is disheveled, standing up on end from where hands have been repeatedly run through it. Arthur has never seen his father disheveled, not even after coming off a tourney field. He’s always been perfectly tidy, almost inhumanly so.

“Father,” Arthur says cheerfully, “I wondered if I may have a word.”

Uther’s blood shot eye flick up and fix him with a crazed glare, “What is it, Arthur?”

Arthur chuckles like his world isn’t spinning wildly out of control, “I see that Morgana has been sent off to the dungeons again.”

“She continues to defy me,” Uther answers the implied question and his eyes fix back on the papers in front of him, “I cannot have her betray me in a time such as this.”

Arthur walks causally across the room and leans against Uther’s desk, “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it betrayal, Father. She just likes to upset you. It’s like a sport to her, we both know that. Remember when she was twelve and she kept smuggling stray cats into her chambers because she knew you didn’t want her to have a pet?”

Uther doesn’t even look up when he says, “I fail to see the relevance.”

“After a few months, the cats all made their way out of her chambers and became excellent mousers for the castle. My point is that she only holds these pro-sorcery views because you hold anti-sorcery views.” Arthur lies, “after a few months of you ignoring it when she brings it up, she’ll forget all about it and will fall back in line.”

Uther’s back stiffens, and he turns his gaze back on Arthur, “We may not have a few months.”

“What does that mean?”

“We have a spy in Camelot.”

Arthur feels all the air escape from his lungs as though he’s been punched. This can’t be happening. He and Leon have been so careful. Merlin has been careful too even though he keeps losing people. How can Uther know?

He must take Arthur’s wide eyed silence as surprise at the situation instead of guilt because he nods sagely and draws Arthur closer. He gestures at the notes on the table. They aren’t in code but they are nearly illegible, and that’s another thing that sends Arthur’s world to crumbling. His own handwriting has always been chicken scratch, but Uther’s has always been immaculate. 

“These battles were meant to be sure things,” Uther continues, “Large bands, but few truly powerful sorcerers. Yet, whenever we attack, the number is fewer than we expected and the magic has been powerful. Don’t you see? Someone is telling them when we’re coming.”

“Surely you can’t blame Morgana!” Arthur exclaims, “She would be a fool to espouse pro-sorcery views so boldly while also actively betraying you.”

Something he tried to convince her of the last time she was locked in the dungeons.

“Morgana is a sound strategist. She had to know that if she tried to convince me she agreed with my actions, I would grow suspicious. You said yourself that she enjoys upsetting me. No, she knew the best way to go undetected in my court was to cause a stir. We will leave her in the dungeons, and if the next attack is successful then she shall be released.”

“How long until the next attack?”

“Two months.”

“Father!” Arthur says, not having to fake indignation, “You can’t leave Morgana down there for two months with no proof that she has betrayed you!”

“I am King!” Uther shouts, “And you will do well to obey me unless you wish to join Morgana in the cells.”

Arthur swallows, and nods his head once. It feels too big on his neck, clumsy and awkward. “Of course. Please forgive my outburst, Sire. I only spoke out because of my care for Morgana. If you think this action is best, then I do not hesitate to believe you.”

Uther softens just slightly, “Affection cannot cloud your vision in peace time, let alone when we are at war.”

“Just so,” Arthur agrees, “Out of curiosity, what will happen to her if the next attack proves to be unsuccessful?”

“I’m afraid she will be doomed to the pyre.” Uther says, sounding almost sad. It’s like he’s resigned himself to her fate, like he can’t see that he is the one directly responsible for what happens.

“Well, let us pray that it does not come to that.” Arthur says.

Uther nods once more, “Is there anything else you need, Arthur?”

“No. I am just going to meet Leon. We have been putting in extra training time together so that we may better lead the knights.”

“Very good.”

Arthur crosses back to the door, trying to stay calm. He’s already sent word to Merlin about the upcoming attack. They’d had to guess at the date it would take place, but Arthur when he said two to three months. That attack is going to be as unsuccessful as the others, and Morgana is on the hook for it.

He walks calmly through the halls, trying to look as though he’s just going for a stroll to clear his head. AS much as he wants to run screaming for Gwen and Leon, he needs to be smart about this. He can’t raise any suspicions while doing this, or it will be the end of their operation.

He finds Gwen just exiting Morgana’s chambers, but he doesn’t rush her. His father probably has eyes everywhere by now.

“Ah Guinevere!” he calls out, friendly as can be.

“My lord?” she questions with an equally pleasant smile on her face.

“I’m afraid I spilled some ink while working earlier, and I could use help cleaning it up while I go track down Sir Leon,” here he lifts his eyebrows meaningfully and hopes she understands what he is implying, “I had hoped that you could help me with that.”

Gwen’s eyes widen minutely, but she still smiles and curtseys politely, “Of course, Sire. I will try to have it cleaned up by the time you get back.”

“There’s no rush,” he responds, “Better a job well done than quickly done.”

Gwen curtseys once more, then hurries off to take care of the fictional chore. 

He wanders around the training grounds after that, hoping for a glimpse of Leon. He spots him coming out of the armory, and smiles at him the same way he did at Gwen. That alone is enough for Leon to stop and do a double take. Not as natural a smile as he hoped, then. No matter, it served its purpose.

“Is there something you need, Arthur?” 

“Yes. I have some training notes in my chamber that I would like you to look over,” Arthur says, “I would prefer they not leave my chamber.”

“Right away, sire.”

Together, they reenter the castle and walk calmly through the corridors. Leon pauses every now and then to give guards orders, and Arthur keeps walking like he expects Leon to simply catch up. This kind of behavior would drive Merlin mad, but it is an excellent cover.

They enter his chambers, and Gwen hops to her feet, brow wrinkled with worry. Arthur puts a finger to his lips to keep her quiet, and closes the doors behind them. Once they’re locked, he moves further into his chambers, and collapses at his table. He gestures for the two of them to join him.

“Morgana has been thrown in the dungeons awaiting execution.” He says dully.

Gwen gasps in horror, and claps a hand over her mouth. Leon goes very still like even a hint of movement would send him shattering like so much glass. Arthur is familiar with that feeling.

Gwen takes a deep breath, and asks, “What happened?” 

“Uther has decided that she’s a spy. If the next attack goes our way, he’s going to throw her on the pyre.”

“But she’s his ward, he can’t possibly do that.” 

“I don’t think he’s quite in his right mind any longer,” Arthur admits, “His desire for vengeance, and his insistence that magic be eradicated, have him under immense strain. He sees enemies everywhere.” 

“So what do we do?” Leon asks, and Arthur has never been more grateful for his friend’s steadiness under pressure.

“We smuggle Morgana out. Gwen, you must go with her. If you remain after she leaves, my father will assume you had something to do with it—”

“Which I do.” Gwen interjects, and it makes Arthur crack a small smile.

“Which you do,” he agrees, “I’m going to give you the key to the cells. Tonight, I want you to go down with dinner for Morgana and take they key with you. Guards change just after the final bell. Tell her to wait until then to unlock the door and slip out. You and I will meet her in the siege tunnel that leads into the lower town, and the three of us will ride to get her to Merlin.”

“What do you want me to do, Sire?” Leon asks, leaning forward.

“I want you to make excuses to my father if I’m not back tomorrow morning. Tell him that I’ve taken ill and you haven’t seen me. Carry on knights’ training as usual. Go on like everything is normal.”

“I will do so.”

Arthur sighs and runs his hands through his hair, “Does everyone understand their positions?” 

Gwen and Leon both nod in response.

“Good. Let’s get Morgana out of Camelot.” 

*

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.” Morgana says softly once they are safely in the woods. She shuffles a little closer to him on Llamrei, and hugs him tight, “I never meant to make you do this for me.”

“I know, but you’re my sister. I wasn’t going to leave you to rot.” He says and gives one of her boney hands a comforting pat.

Gwen rides close beside them on Morgana’s horse, Breeze, and she smiles comfortingly at Morgana, “The important thing is, we got you out of Camelot. You’ll be much safer with Merlin and the druids than you were in the Castle.”

“Safety is overrated,” Morgana hisses, “I want to help.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, “You are. Merlin is the only one in that camp with significant amounts of magic. He needs your power as well. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to help at all if you were locked in the dungeons.”

“I suppose you’re not wrong.”

It’s the closest Morgana has ever come to admitting he was right about something. He just wishes he could feel smugger about it, but given the circumstances he is hard pressed to find joy in it. Maybe when this is all over, he can give her a hard time.

He hears a horse approaching. He recognizes the gait of Brown Horse, but there’s something off. With a jolt, he realizes he’s hearing two sets of hooves. Merlin has never brought someone with him, and it is entirely possible that he’s running from whoever the second horse belongs to. 

He pulls Llamrei up short, and Gwen does the same with breeze. 

“Morgana, go with Gwen. Hide until I tell you it’s safe.” 

For once, Morgana doesn’t argue. She just dismounts Llamrei a bit awkwardly given that there are two riders, and mounts up with Gwen. They disappear into the trees, and Arthur pulls his sword.

Moments later, two horses come crashing through the trees. One of the riders is indeed Merlin, riding next to him is someone he doesn’t recognize. Dark hair, dark eyes. He doesn’t seem to be chasing Merlin, instead he slows when Merlin calls out a greeting. He takes his horse, and paces the perimeter like he’s trying to keep them safe.

“Who’s that?” he asks bluntly when he and Merlin have both dismounted.

Merlin glances over his shoulder, “That’s Lancelot. He was on his way to Camelot to try to become a knight when he heard what was happening and came to help us instead.”

Arthur relaxes a little, “And he’s trustworthy?”

“Very,” Merlin swears, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Morgana—”

“Uther didn’t learn about her magic did he?” Merlin asks, clutching Arthur’s shoulder like he might keel over.

“No, but he suspects her of being a spy. He was going to throw her on the pyre when the next attack failed.”

“Is she safe?”

“I brought her and Gwen. They’re in your care now.”

“Not to point out the obvious,” Merlin says in that endearing way when he thinks Arthur is being thick, “But where are they?”

“Oh. Right.” Arthur says and whistles sharply. Breeze comes into the clearing bearing Morgana and Gwen both. “I didn’t trust you brining a rider after all this time.”

“Lancelot is too damn noble for his own good,” Merlin says with a roll of his eyes, “He insisted he come with me to keep me safe. He’s worse than you.”

Gwen and Morgana dismount, and Arthur steps back so they can hug Merlin. As much as he’s been missing Merlin, at least he’s had the chance to see him every now and then. He was Morgana and Gwen’s friend too, and they haven’t seen him since the day before the purge was announced. Gwen is crying, and even Morgana surreptitiously dashes away some tears when she thinks no one is looking.

Merlin introduces them all to Lancelot, and Arthur watches mystified as Gwen turns to a puddle at his polite greeting. He shoots Merlin a confused look, and Merlin simply shrugs, apparently as mystified as Arthur.

“We should get going.” Merlin says eventually.

“Stay safe.” Arthur responds, and presses a desperate kiss to Merlin’s lips. He can’t wait for the day when the kisses don’t have to be desperate, and can instead be exchanged for the simple act of affection.

As Merlin mounts Brown Horse, Arthur turns to Lancelot. They clasp arms awkwardly, and Arthur grimaces tiredly as he says, “Protect them.”

“You have my word.” Lancelot swear solemnly.

Arthur watches as three of his dearest friends ride into the woods. Leon is all he has left now.


	11. Chapter 11

Merlin scrubs a hand through his hair, and settles his arms on his knees. Morgana and Gwen have settled into this life with far more ease than expected. He always knew that they were both strong enough to get used to it, they traveled with him to Ealdor after all, but there is a difference between an open battle and life on the run. Gwen’s ability to settle in is no small part thanks to Lancelot. The two of them took one look at each other and were sunk, even now Merlin can see them tucked close to each other on the other side of the fire, heads bowed and Gwen’s shy little smile peeking through the shadows.

Stupidly, it makes him think of Arthur. Every day that he’s away, he misses him more. They were still getting their legs when all this went down. Now it’s quick meetings in the dark, hidden away from the world. He wants to be like Lancelot and Guinevere; open and warm, a little nauseating. He wants to be able to smile at Arthur properly again, he wants to walk the castle halls with him, wants to call him a prat and laugh about it instead of token chuckles in the cold. 

There’s also no small part of him that worries they’re being held together because of this war, and not because of their love for each other. They haven’t been in each other’s pockets for a long time. Merlin isn’t even sure what kind of life could be awaiting him back in Camelot. He cared for Arthur as a friend long before any romantic feelings crept their way in around the edges, and if he can’t have those romantic inclinations reciprocated in the end he wants to keep Arthur’s friendship. A life without him and Arthur side by side is not a life worth fighting for.

It’s the exhaustion and pressure talking. He hasn’t had proper sleep in months, nearly a year. He’s always too nervous that Uther’s men will come riding over the hill without time for Arthur or Leon to warn them. Any little sound at night startles him awake, and he’ll lay there staring at the darkened canopy of trees, and long for his lumpy bed in his drafty room in Gaius’s chambers.

He can’t be seen losing hope. For whatever reason, he’s become the face of this war, and that means the druids and sorcerers rely on him for his strength. He hates it. He wants to go back to the Merlin that Camelot remembers. Having Gwen and Morgana around help a little. They treat him the same as they always have. Morgana teases him good naturedly. Gwen reminds him that he’s not shouldering this burden alone, and that he shouldn’t lose himself to this cause because when it’s over he may not be able to find his way back. It helps him keep his feet when it all gets to be too much.

Personal struggles aside, there are more pressing concerns. After the mock battle with Arthur’s troops, the calls for direct war against Uther have increased once more, and here Morgana is _not_ a help. She suffered more personally at Uther’s hand than anyone in their band of renegades, and the anger simmers in her soul. Merlin can’t really blame her. He, too, has fantasies of stabbing Uther through the heart and leaving him to bleed out cold and alone.

As more people flee the lower town to avoid accusations of sorcery, their reasoning for not storming the citadel becomes flimsier and Uther’s hunting parties grow bolder. This isn’t something they can win, not with their current numbers. If they want to even contemplate rising against Uther, they need reinforcements. There’s also Arthur’s promise to consider. He swore that he would figure something out, and Merlin doesn’t doubt his word. He trusts Arthur with his life, and Arthur has proven o be worthy of that trust. So, no, it’s not Arthur’s word that Merlin doubts. What he does doubt is Arthur’s ability to kill his own father, or even depose him. If the positions were reversed, if his own mother was the one that needed to be removed, Merlin isn’t sure he could do it.

It’s all a right mess.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, hoping to drive the thoughts away just for a little while. He takes deep breaths, focuses on the steady in and out of air in his lungs. He lets the crackle of the fire, the voices of their camp, and the wind in the tress ground him in the here and now. He can’t possibly solve all of this by himself. He wasn’t born for politics or planning like Arthur was. He wishes Arthur were here, wishes they could talk all this out properly between them.

Unbidden, tears spring to his eyes, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. He was never raised with the stiff upper lip nonsense that Uther tried to instill in both his children, but if he falls apart now he may never come back together.

A warm hand settles on his shoulder, and he raises his head to see who it is. Gwen smiles down at him, eyes soft and understanding. Morgana comes to settle on his other side, and takes one of her hands in his.

“Sorry.” He says hoarsely.

Morgana squeezes his hand in hers, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’ve seen even Arthur buckle under pressure less powerful than this. You are doing a remarkable job keeping it together.”

Merlin gives her a watery smile, and makes room on the log for Gwen to sit. She rests her head on Merlin’s shoulder and takes his other hand.

“I feel like no matter what choice I make, it’s going to be the wrong one.” He admits quietly.

“They’re right,” Lancelot responds, “You have taken on the mantle of leadership well. War is never easy, and the very fact you care about every one of us shows that you haven’t let it change you.”

“You didn’t know me before.” Merlin points out.

Gwen grins brightly, “That’s true. Merlin was a force of chaos when he first arrived in Camelot. He tried to deliver a sleeping draught to Morgana once, and ended up pretending to be while she was changing behind her dressing screen just so he wouldn’t embarrass her.”

“He used magic to get ahead of all the chores Arthur would assign him.” Morgana adds, “One of if not the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth, and he used his magic to sharpen swords and polish boots.”

“Hey!” Merlin says indignantly, feeling the beginning of a smile creeping onto his face, “I also put protection spells on Arthur’s armor. Don’t forget that.”

“How rude of me.” Morgana responds with a mischievous smile.

“Why don’t you tell us what you’re thinking?” Gwen prompts, “We’ve all spent enough time working with Arthur and Leon to at least tell you whether or not it’s a disastrous plan.”

“We can’t win,” Merlin answers, feeling the exhaustion weigh on him once more, “Not with the numbers we have. I know people want to go to war, and every day there are fewer reasons not to try, but even with mine and Morgana’s magic we don’t have the people necessary to win.”

“Do you want to go to war?” Lancelot asks.

“Not really.” Merlin admits, “It was one thing to use my magic to target one person who was intent on killing Arthur, but I never wanted it to become a weapon. If we go up against Uther’s army, that’s all anyone will ever think of magic as; a weapon.”

“Perhaps it’s time for people to be scared of us once more.” Morgana says darkly.

Merlin turns to her, eyes wide, “You can’t be serious.”

Some of the fight goes out of her, but she keeps her chin tilted regally up, “If they feared us, then perhaps they may leave us alone.”

“People hurt what they fear, my lady,” Lancelot chips in, “I don’t think you should be forced to be like those of us without ties to the Old Religion, but you shouldn’t set out to make people afraid.”

“Regardless,” Gwen says firmly, “Our first order of business should be to get reinforcements. Even if we don’t seek war, Uther won’t leave us in peace. Having better defenses can only help.”

Merlin could kiss her. He really could. 

“You’re right. I’ll go and try to send as many people this way as possible.”

“You can’t go alone,” Gwen says, “You could be attacked by bandits, or run into Uther’s men. You may have a beard now, and Uther may not know you’re gone, but one look at you they will put two and two together.”

“I’ll go with him.” Lancelot volunteers.

“You’d do that?” Merlin asks. He likes Lancelot, but they haven’t had the time to get particularly close.

Lancelot nods solemnly, “I promised Arthur that I would keep you all safe, but Morgana and Gwen will have the protection of Morgana’s magic and the people here. You going on your own will be much more dangerous.”

“When should we go?”

“As soon as possible. Tomorrow if you can.” Morgana answers.

Merlin shoots Lancelot an amused look, “Our Lady has spoken.”

Morgana flicks his ear in retaliation, but she’s smiling. The world doesn’t seem to be pressing so firmly down on him any longer. He can almost bring himself to believe that everything will be okay in the end. 

He leaves Morgana and Gwen in charge. He expected some irritation from the people who have stuck around camp the longest, but apparently Morgana’s reputation as a Seer is enough to grant her the respect needed to keep things moving. Gwen is a capable leader in her own right, and would probably make an excellent queen given the chance, but in a community of magic her opinion isn’t held as highly as Morgana’s. Merlin still leaves them as coleaders because Gwen can temper Morgana’s fiery instincts. It almost guarantees that Merlin will still have a camp to come back to when this adventure has run its course. 

He and Lancelot ride out that afternoon. It took longer than expected to plan a route to follow, pack bags, and saddle the horses. AS they ride away, Merlin can breathe once more. This feels like his life before, the one where he would ride out on warm afternoons to go hunting with Arthur. He can remember the old Merlin, and his joy at getting away from the castle.

It reminds him why he’s continuing to fight. He’s fighting so everyone of the Old Religion can go back to their lives before, and make a home once more. The pressure is still there, but it doesn’t weigh nearly as much now that he’s actively doing something about it. The pattern of wait, hide, run, is more draining than actual battle. There is no relief from it, but there is relief in action.

“Did you really take down two Sidhe at the same time?” Lancelot asks as they ride.

“Not at the same time, but one after the other.” Merlin answers, “Sophia was trying to drown Arthur in order to secure immortality for herself and her father. I guess they’d been kicked out of Avalon at some point.”

“You do realize that one after the other is still an impressive feat?” Lancelot asks with an amused grin.

Merlin feels an answering grin spread across his face, “I couldn’t let them kill Arthur.”

“He seems to have a great deal of your devotion.”

Merlin shrugs, “I have a great deal of his. He risked his life to get a cure to a poison in order to save me. He drank a goblet that we thought was poisoned so that I wouldn’t sacrifice myself again. He risked himself to smuggle me out of Camelot when the purge started, and is continuing to risk himself to help me and every other creature of the Old Religion.”

“He seems a noble man.”

“He is, when he stops being a clotpole.” 

Lancelot laughs and shakes his head, “Well at least I know we can count on him.”

“We can. Arthur can be a bit arrogant, and rude, but when you earn his loyalty you have it forever. He genuinely cares for others. He’ll make a great king someday.”

Saying all of this aloud, eases something in his chest. He had begun to doubt Arthur, like it or not. He was worrying that Arthur would abandon him as soon as the fight was over, but they’ve been through fights together before. This won’t break them. Arthur wouldn’t let it.

*

Tracking down reinforcements turns out to be more difficult than expected. No one is willing to even hint at ties with the Old Religion, and it is a testament to how far Uther’s fearmongering reaches that even people on the border between Camelot and Essetir are shifty and silent. That said, they do fnd some people.

They meet Gilly near the border of Camelot and Nemeth. He carries a magic ring, and protects himself from bandits. He watches them both with wide nervous eyes when they emerge from the trees, but all it takes is one display of magic from Merlin and he relaxes. They learn of his father lost to one of Uther’s raids, and his desire for justice to be served. They send him Morgana’s way, and he goes with something akin to hope in his eyes.

Members of the Old Religion aren’t the only ones who agree to fight. They meet Percival in a little farming village. His arms are the size of Merlin’s head, but he is gentle and caring, and gets on wonderfully with Lancelot. They spend three days sleeping in his cottage, and eating proper food instead of whatever they’ve been able to scrounge up on the road, and the steady diet of camp fare Merlin’s been stuck with for the last year. It takes very little convincing for Percival to agree to fight with them, and Merlin feels infinitely better having someone with an actual sword to defend the camp with Lancelot gone.

They slip into a tavern about two months into their travels, trying to keep their heads down and not draw attention to themselves. The walls are a non-descript grey, and the tables are sticky from mead and stew, but it gets them out of the heat of the sun. They tuck themselves into a corner, and blush under the gazes of the barmaid as she compliments them both.

Merlin sips his mead, relishing the way it cools him from the inside out. One thing they don’t tell you about having a beard, is that your face is much warmer than when you’re clean shaven. He can’t wait to have a mirror again, to go back to a fresh face and shorter hair. He probably won’t cut it as short as he wore it before, he’s been reliably informed by Morgana that the longer hair is fetching.

At the counter, the barmaid fumbles a tankard as she tries to set it down for cleaning. It slips from the edge, and Merlin’s magic flares instinctively to slow it. He needn’t have bothered. Before he can even cast, the barmaid manages to snag it by the handle with the tips of her fingers, and she stand there blinking down at it clearly surprised she was able to catch it.

A hush descends on the tavern. It’s like every eye is fixed on her as she rights the tankard and sets it carefully back on the bar. The second the tankard touches the scarred wooden bar, the tavern explodes. Men and women alike jump their feet, and accusations of sorcery are flung at her. Paranoia because of Uther’s policies made manifest. 

One of the men grabs her by her hair, preparing to drag her out in the name of perverted form of justice. Merlin and Lancelot share a look, and both of them are on their feet before the other can say anything,

“Let her go.” Lancelot says in that calm serious voice of his, and it draws everyone up short.

The man sizes up Lancelot, and snorts dismissively, “Why should I? We all saw her slow that cup so she could catch it.”

“I saw no such thing. I saw a lucky catch, and that is all. Now, let her go.”

“Make me.”

“I’d like to see it.” Merlin says, stepping up beside Lancelot.

The man flicks his gaze over Merlin, and he releases the barmaid. She scurries away to hide behind the counter, and three more men flank the man who was holding her. Merlin has seen Lancelot fight enough times to know that he can take these men on. Apparently sensing the lack of nerves coming from either of them, another four men join the man. These odds… well… not good. 

“You boys seem to have gotten yourselves into a pickle.” A voice comes from behind them, and young man swaggers up between the two groups.

“This is not your fight.” Lancelot says calmly, “You don’t have to align yourself with us.”

The man takes a sip of whatever is in his tankard, grins, and says “You’re probably right.” then turns and punches the first man in the face so hard he hits the ground.

After that chaos abounds. Lancelot and this new stranger get caught up in wrestling against the men, while Merlin helps the barmaid throw any solid objects they can find at the opposite party. Lancelot gets tipped onto his back onto the floor, and if Merlin uses some magic to cause a wine bottle to roll under the attacker’s feet so he trips and Lancelot once more has the advantage, no one is any the wiser. At one point the stranger gets tossed over the bar Merlin is hiding behind. He pops up again, grinning like he’s having the time of his life and introduces himself as Gwaine.

The three of them ride away from the tavern together, and before night falls he and Gwaine are thick as thieves.


	12. Chapter 12

Uther doesn’t even mention Morgana now that she’s gone. It’s like she never existed. Within days, her entire room had been packed away. The dresses she left behind sit in a wardrobe somewhere in the castle, and that is the only indication that Uther remembers her. Even in the wake of her sudden exit, and subsequent betrayal, Uther can’t bring himself to share her clothes among the castle staff.

He remains shifty for weeks afterward, and Arthur doesn’t dare risk trying to smuggle anyone out on his own. He has to trust entirely in Leon, and it drives him out of his mind with worry. He spends the time not spent on the training ground, pacing his chambers. He’s chewed his thumb nail down so far that the skin underneath has started to grow raw, used to the protective covering that has been ravaged by Arthur’s nerves.

He knows patrols are still going out, because he has to approve the schedules, but it seems Uther has grown suspicious of even Arthur. Normally patrol duty would be under Arthur’s purview, but now all he has is final approval. He lays awake at night, convinced Uther has figured out that he has been sending the weakest of the knights to patrol the areas known to be frequented by sorcerers. When he does manage to catch some sleep on those nights, he wakes with a shout a couple of hours later with the smell of his own burning flesh still bouncing around in his head. He dreams of the pyre.

He misses Merlin. They’d been inseparable from day one, or not day one but fairly close, and Arthur feels adrift without him. If he’s not worrying about losing this war, he’s worrying about losing Merlin whether by death or because the pain of this fight and the long separation will have changed them too much to ever fit together again. Allyship only goes so far.

He becomes jumpy and taciturn to everyone but Leon and Uther. The poor maidservants have probably never seen him stalking the halls so angrily before, and most of them have been in service long enough to have seen him lose his second ever tourney and spend the next week refusing to eat or sleep in favor of working on his sword skills. With Uther he plays a dangerous game of trying to be subservient as Uther expects, but still carefree and rebellious as he was before the purge began. He succeeds, but there are moments when he is convinced the jig is up. Uther will look at him with a particularly searching expression, and Arthur begins sweating under his tunic. If Merlin were here, he’d complain about the extra laundry.

If Merlin were here, there wouldn’t be any extra laundry at all. If Merlin were here, it would mean no purge at all. Merlin would be safe, and Arthur could hold him close all night.

Three weeks after Morgana’s flight from Camelot, he is summoned to Uther’s chambers. He tells Leon where he’s going in case he doesn’t return, slips on the long coat he knows makes Uther regard him as a young man with too much fancy in him, and makes his way to Uther’s chambers. He keeps his pace languid and unhurried. There’s no need to show up out of breath if Uther is already suspicious.

He knocks on the doors to Uther’s chambers, and waits. After a moment he’s granted entry, and he hitches a curious smile on his face. He pushes open one of the doors, walks through, and lets the door swing shut behind him.

“You wanted to see me, Father?” he asks.

Uther looks up from his dinner, pats his mouth with a napkin, “Arthur. Please take a seat.”

The tone isn’t angry, or even disapproving. It is deceptively mild, and Arthur takes a seat he gets the same feeling he gets when he takes the first steps into a river when trying to ford it. The tightening in his chest as he tries to feel how quick the current is moving before he is swept away. Sometimes, if the river is moving fast enough underneath, it doesn’t matter how well you can swim.

Uther’s manservant materializes out of nowhere, and deposits a plate of food in front of Arthur. He can’t help but make the comparison to Merlin. Even when Merlin had tried to be discreet, he’d always taken up space. He was too gangly, too goofy, too brilliant to be missed. It’s a wonder they were able to sneak him out at all given the attention that Merlin brought. Looking back, however, Arthur thinks that Merlin may have only been obvious to him. 

He takes a bite of one of the sausages on his plate, and asks, “Is there news?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Uther says, sounding like the self-important man Arthur remembers from growing up, “I have invited Bayard to join us.”

Arthur pauses with another bite halfway to his mouth, “As in King Bayard of Mercia? The Kingdom we’ve been on the verge of war with since before my birth?”

Uther takes a sip from his goblet, “I see why this might be confusing to you, but you will learn that sometimes you must put aside animosity in order to tackle a larger threat.”

“A larger threat,” Arthur says blankly, still baffled at the news, “As in sorcery?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Uther sounds extremely put upon, “I do in fact mean sorcery.”

“Are you entirely sure it is wise? What if Bayard is accepting this invitation as an excuse to learn of Camelot’s weaknesses?” Arthur asks, temporarily forgetting about Merlin and his merry band of renegades hiding in the woods in favor of trying to keep the citadel standing long enough for those people to have a home to return to.

Uther laughs, as if that’s the funniest thing Arthur has ever said, “Bayard hardly has the forces necessary to take on Camelot’s army. No, he knows better than to try. I want you with me when he arrives.”

Arthur nods jerkily and tears off a piece of bread like everything is normal, “How long until Bayard gets here?”

“He should be here in about two weeks’ time. The last bird he sent put him close to his border with Nemeth.” 

Uther’s eyes are sparkling again like they haven’t since before Arthur’s mother’s passing. Arthur wishes he could enjoy it, but instead of joy there, all he sees is a maniacal gleam. It reminds him of the hawks some of the knights keep for hunting. Arthur sees nothing of the father he knew. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he thought of Uther as anything other than Uther.

“I will, of course, be ready to greet him.” Arthur says dutifully.

“Good. Camelot may be more powerful than Mercia, but their help in this war will be incalculable. We need to present a united front.” Uther instructs after another bite of his dinner.

“I do have a question, Sire.” Arthur states cautiously, and Uther waves a hand for him to continue, “Surely Bayard know of Morgana. New has not yet left Camelot about her… about the fact she has left us, but he will notice her absence. Should he ask, what should I say?”

Uther stares at Arthur disapprovingly, “Arthur, we all know Morgana died years ago.”

Arthur fights down the urge to suck in a breath at that. He knew Uther was callous and vindictive, but Morgana is his daughter. She is as much part of Uther as Arthur is. It is nearly unbelievable that he could simply write her off as though she wasn’t quarrelling with him merely weeks ago.

“Of course, sire, my mistake.” Arthur agrees, because what else can he do?

He can’t begin raging at Uther about his attitude towards Morgana. He can’t bring Morgana back to Camelot. He can’t do anything that might put the people relying on him in danger. He just has to play the part, and pray that for once he will be good enough to earn a victory for them all.

“Perhaps you should get some sleep.” Uther says in a low, dangerous voice.

Arthur takes that as his cue to leave, and stands from the table, “Of course. I have had a hard day of training. If you will excuse me.”

He moves easily from Uther’s chambers, and stands in the corridor blinking. He knows from Leon’s last visit to Merlin, that Merlin and that Lancelot left together to try to recruit more people to their cause, but unless they were able to recruit an entire army, they stand no chance against both Mercia and Camelot. Uther’s Purge might just be successful, and Arthur feels sick. He has images of Merlin, Morgana, Gwen, and even Lancelot all dead on the forest floor somewhere dark and cold, lef tot to rot for the crime of fighting back against an unjust rule.

He staggers away from Uther’s chambers, and makes it about halfway back to his room before he has to tuck himself into an alcove and place his head between is knees to breathe. They’ve all come so close to winning this war, and part of him wants to turn around and lop Uther’s head off himself. Let Camelot crumble without a king. He knows there have been kings in other places that got there because of patricide, but Arthur doesn’t want to rule with fear. No. If he kills Uther, then Arthur can never become king.

Sometimes, that doesn’t sound so bad. He could go somewhere with Merlin. Maybe they could move back to Ealdor. Hunith had adored him, even though he’d been as rude and arrogant as Merlin always accused him of being. He remembers her kissing him on the cheek, patting his hair with one worn hand, and smiling at him so gently that Arthur thought he might burst.

Thoughts of Hunith inevitably brings him to thought of his own mother. He misses her so baldy it aches. He never got the chance to mourn her properly. Instead he’d had to go to war against a man who blamed everyone else for his own mistake. Not for the first time, Arthur wishes he had just been allowed to die. He would have been missed, but he doubts that this war would have ever started. 

Leon finds him like that some indeterminate time later. He presses a big warm hand between his shoulder blades and rubs soothing circles, like he can coax Arthur back into calmness. Arthur’s first instinct is to throw him off, present a strong confident front. In the end he just stays there, letting the support soak into him.

Leon must be able to sense when Arthur’s heartrate returns to normal because he stops rubbing, and says in a low voice, “Remember you are not fighting alone, Arthur.”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut tight, tight enough to send sparks flying in the darkness behind his eyelids, then nods. He straightens slowly so as not to look like he’s throwing off Leon’s hand. If it weren’t for Leon ever steady at his side, Arthur would have given into despair long ago, and he deserves better than throwing off his gesture of support.

“I have news. Perhaps you could come with me to my chambers,” Arthur says for the benefit of any passing ears, “as second night, it is something you should be aware of.”

“Of course, Sire.” Leon responds, sounding like nothing at all is wrong.

They walk in silence back to his chambers. Arthur locks the doors behind them as soon as they step through, and the glint of a goblet sitting on the entry table suddenly fills him with rage. Before making a conscious choice, he picks it up and hurls it as hard as he can at the opposite wall. It makes a satisfying clang against the wood, and Arthur lets out a long breath.

When he turns, Leon is watching him with a deeply concerned frown, “How bad is this news?”

“Uther,” Arthur says, sounding a little hysterical, “has allied us with Mercia against the threat of sorcery.”

Leon is known to be unflappable. You could tell him Uther remarried to a troll, and Leon must now greet said troll as queen, and Leon would bow, say “of course” and give her the greeting befitting her station. Arthur has seen Leon fall so badly off his horse that the broken bone stuck through the skin, and Leon had simply gone pale and very politely asked to abandon the hunt in favor of returning to Camelot.

Leon kicks the table so hard that the items on top rattle.

“Damn it!” he shouts, and drags a hand through his curly hair, “What now?”

Arthur shakes his head, feeling utterly helpless, “We may have to tell Merlin to flee. They don’t have laws against sorcery in Essetir, maybe he can return to Ealdor and disperse the remaining people where they won’t be noticed.”

“That solves none of the problems.” Leon points out.

“It could buy us time.”

Even as he says it, the despair at potentially never seeing Merlin again threatens to drown him. Uther would never let an excursion into Cenred’s lands while sorcery was still allowed, and it simply isn’t possible to come up with enough excuses to be able to see Merlin. The only reason they’ve been able to see each other at all is because Merlin is still so close.

“I think that should be their decision to make.” Leon says, and Arthur wants to scream at him for being so reasonable. Arthur may never get to see Merlin again, but at least Merlin would be alive.

“I’ll go tonight. Time is of the essence.”

“Are you sure it be you, Arthur? Uther has been keeping closer eyes than ever on all of us.”

“They deserve to hear it from me.” Arthur says darkly, “This started because Uther wanted me to live. It is only right that I tell those who are suffering because of me that their very survival might be at stake.”

Leon squeezes Arthur’s shoulder, “You can’t blame yourself for this, Arthur. Look at all you have done to try to keep everyone safe.”

“Regardless, it should still be me.”

“I’ll figure out something to tell Uther if he notices.”

“Thank you, Leon.”

*

The camp is abuzz with activity when Arthur arrives. He’d alerted Merlin to his departure, but at no point had he heard the familiar sound of Brown Horse’s hooves. He’s only ever been to the camp once before, but it’s grown since then. Now it apparently includes people of the non-magical persuasion. He can see sword training happening by one of the fires.

As he steps through the trees into the light, a sword is pressed to his back, and a voice growls, “Who are you.”

“A friend of Merlin’s.” Arthur responds quickly, and the sword drops from his back.

When he turns, he comes face to face with a roguish looking face, and long hair. The man holds his hand out to Arthur and says, “Welcome, Friend of Merlin, I’m Gwaine.”

Not wanting to get the sword pressed to his throat for being unfriendly, he shakes Gwaine’s hands, “Arthur. Normally meets me long before I get here.”

Gwaine nods as if that makes sense, “Morgana wouldn’t let him go. He’s only been back a day and is still exhausted from travel even though he insists he’s fine.”

“He does that,” Arthur says with a fond grin.

“I’ll show you to his tent.” Gwaine says helpfully.

Gwaine leads him through the camp, but has to pause halfway to Merlin’s tent. At the sight of him, Gwen let out a delighted shout, and wrapped him in a hug. Morgana had been mildly more subdued, but she’d hugged him as well. With their greeting, it’s like he can feel the suspicion of the others melting away.

He steps through into Merlin’s tent, and Merlin reacts much the same way Gwen did. He pulls Arthur in close and they spend several moments just holding each other. Arthur buries his face in Merlin’s neck, and tries to memorize the smell there. It’s mostly dirt and other forest-y smells, but that’s okay. It’s still something to hold onto once he’s left.

“What’s happened?” Merlin asks, face buried in Arthur’s hair.

Arthur sighs and tightens his grip around Merlin’s waist, “Uther has allied with Mercia. Bayard is going to reinforce Uther’s army against sorcery.”

Merlin’s hands go painfully tight on his shoulders, and Arthur must make some kind of noise to indicate his discomfort, because Merlin’s hands soft once more. He murmurs “Sorry” into Arthur’s hair.

“I think you should flee.” Arthur advises.

He doesn’t see so much as feel Merlin shake his head stubbornly, “No. We can’t keep running. We have to push back.”

“You’ll all die,” Arthur says desperately, and pulls back so he can look at Merlin in the face, “Flee, and you’ll live to fight another day.”

Merlin shakes his head again, “Arthur, we can’t.”

“I know.” Arthur says tiredly, “I hate it, but I understand.”

Merlin presses a kiss to his forehead, “We need _you_ here. I’ve been doing my best, but I can’t strategize all on my own.”

“If I vanish like Morgana, my father will just bring the combined forces of Mercia, Camelot, Nemeth, and anyone else he can convince down on you. I know my place is by your side, but not now.”

Merlin presses his lips together, and nods, “I miss you when you’re gone.”

“I miss you too.” Arthur promises.

“Any idea where Bayard is now?”

“Border of his kingdom and Nemeth, why?”

“The only way through is a mountain pass, right?”

“Yes.” Arthur says, still confused.

Merlin nods decisively, “We’ll collapse the pass.”

“Can you?” Arthur asks, “Do you have enough magic combined to bring it down?”

Merlin grins at him so fondly, Arthur wants to look away, “I have enough magic to do it on my own, but I was going to bring Morgana.”

“Be careful.” Arthur says, pretending like he isn’t begging.

“You too.” Merlin says, leaning in for a kiss.

When Arthur leaves that night, he has a feeling the next time Merlin asks him to stay, he won’t be able to say no.


	13. Chapter 13

Merlin rides back into camp, partially slumped over the neck of Brown Horse. He’s streaked with dust and sweat from a week of travelling, and drained down to his very core from collapsing the pass to make it impossible for Bayard to pass through. It isn’t so much that it took a lot of his magic, his magic seems endless and boundless these days. Every day he can feel it grow stronger and firmer, and he knows that this must be why Arthur enjoyed training so much; feeling the changes, being able to see how much better you are than even a moment ago. So it really isn’t that he worked magic too big for him, especially with Morgana’s help, but a week on the road and nearly a year of hiding has him crashing.

On her horse beside him, Morgana doesn’t look all that much better off than him. She hasn’t been subjected to living with the camp for nearly as long as Merlin, but she did spend time hiding. Her risk was just as great if not greater than Merlin’s. She was right under Uther’s nose this whole time, working to undermine him, existing as the very embodiment of all the things he hates. Merlin can’t imagine what it must be like for family to hate you, let alone hate you for something that you have no control over. His mother and Gaius may have preached caution, but they never thought him anything short of wonderful.

He shoots Morgana a tired smile, and she smiles back. She’d been teasing him for the better part of their journey about his relationship with Arthur. Apparently she had no idea that they were even together before Arthur smuggled her out and he kissed Merlin in front of her in the woods. She had been gracious enough not to accidentally undermine his delicate position as leader by teasing him, but when the two of them all bets were off. 

It was comforting in a way. It injected some much needed normalcy into his life, reminded him once more that he’s not just fighting for an abstract belief. He’s fighting for her, and people like the two of them. They all deserve to get tease and joke, argue and make up, be friends and not fellow soldiers. She also connects him to Arthur, bringing him back to the good old days of the four of them riding out to save Ealdor from Kanen. He never thought the day of Will’s death was going to be anything other than horribly devastating, and it still hurts deep inside to know that Will is gone, but he hadn’t been fighting a war then. It was also the first time that Merlin was sure Arthur had his back out of friendship, and not just devotion brought on because Merlin had saved his life.

They ride into camp, and people come swarming up to meet them. Gwaine and Percival are there to slap Merlin on the back and ruffle his hair, Lancelot and Guinevere are there looking horribly in love and they pull Morgana in for a hug. Gwen pulls him into a hug as well, and Lancelot ruffles his hair like the other men did. It’s funny how he managed to build a little family in the middle of all this chaos and bloodshed. He only wishes Leon and Arthur were there to share in it as well.

Gwen clasps both Merlin and Morgana by the hands, and tugs, “Come on. I want you to meet someone.”

Too tired to argue, they stumble after her. As Merlin glances around, he swears the camp has doubled in size since he and Morgana left. He sends an inquisitive glance Morgana’s way, and she looks just as confused as him. There must be more people here, Merlin isn’t just imagining it.

“Lancelot,” Merlin says, still following Gwen, “Are there more people than when I left?”

“Percival and Gilly asked around while they were coming here,” Lancelot answers, “It took them all awhile to show up, but they’re here now. Some are like you and Morgana, some are like me and Gwen. They all want to fight back against what’s happening.”

“Which is exactly why Elyan is here.” Gwen announces, leading them over to a handsome dark skinned man chatting with a druid.

He looks over then, and when he smiles it looks familiar, “You must be Merlin and Morgana. I’m Elyan.”

“Elyan is my brother.” Gwen says by way of introductions.

Merlin blinks a few times, and scrubs a hand over his face, “Did I know you had a brother?”

Gwen and Elyan both grimace, and Elyan rubs the back of his neck, “Gwen didn’t like to talk about me. I used to have a tendency to wander off and not return her letters.”

“Well,” Morgana says graciously, “we are very grateful to have your support Elyan. I thank you.”

Elyan inclines his head respectfully, “I am happy to help, My Lady.”

“Finally, someone who addresses me by my proper title.” Morgana says waspishly and glares at Merlin and Gwaine in turn. Merlin is fairly certain that she doesn’t mean it, after all she’d told him to call her Morgana when they were still back in Camelot. She might have taken exception to Gwaine calling her by her name without her permission, however.

Merlin drags energy from somewhere, and smiles at Elyan, “I’m glad you’re here too. Sorry I’m not better company at the moment.”

“You both look dead on your feet. I think I can forgive you.” Elyan says with a little chuckle, and it makes Merlin chuckle too.

The whole group of them –Merlin, Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan—make their way over to the cooking fires for dinner. Morgana and Merlin are both more than happy to let the others carry on the conversation without them. They catch them up on everything that happened in the camp over the last week, and Merlin listens while trying not to fall asleep in his stew.

Between Gilly and Percival, nearly twenty new people have joined the cause. The numbers haven’t doubled like Merlin expected, but nearly. What’s even better news is that a few of the newcomers have some decent power and skill. They need all the man power they can get, and Merlin is endlessly grateful for the steel that Percival managed to attract, but a good sorcerer can take out three knights for every one that the men using swords can. Merlin wishes desperately that Arthur were here to help train them. He knows Gwaine, Lancelot, and Percival are all excellent swordsmen, but there’s no one Merlin trusts more than he trusts Arthur.

It might also just be because he misses Arthur more every day. 

When he nearly slumps forward into his bowl of stew, Gwaine is there for him. He snags the bowl before Merlin can waste it by spilling it everywhere, and good naturedly slings Merlin’s arm over his shoulder. Merlin does his best to stay upright under his own power, but he finds him leaning more heavily on Gwaine as they walk. Gwaine seems delighted by it all, grinning at Merlin like he’s something particularly amusing, and ruffling Merlin’s hair any time Merlin stumbles into him.

He gets Merlin into his tent, and Merlin collapses face first onto his bedroll. He never thought a bedroll would feel so good, but he and Morgana has intentionally traveled light in order to get to the border more quickly. That meant no bedrolls and instead trying to make themselves comfortable among the roots of trees and on piles of leaves. He thinks, absently, of Arthur’s bed back in Camelot. He’d shared it with Arthur once, both of them exhausted after saving each other again, and it was the warmest and safest Merlin had ever felt. 

He reminds himself that soon he can go back to that bed, and that warmth. Once this war is over, and Uther is dealt with, he can once more bury himself in Arthur’s bed and not move. He can hold Arthur longer than a few hours, and instead hold him every day. 

The waiting is exhausting.

Gwaine presses a damp rag into Merlin’s hand, pulling him from his drifting, “Might want to wipe your face, Merlin. You’ve got dust all over it.”

Merlin drags himself into a sitting position, and wipes at his face. He can feel the grime leaving his skin, and he grimaces a little. He probably looks like he’s made of dirt at this point, tearing down a mountain pass doesn’t exactly go without a mess. It was sort of impressive how much dust a few boulders could kick up.

“Thanks, Gwaine. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Merlin slurs.

Gwaine grins, “I don’t either. Figures that when I finally make a friend he’s as much of a disaster as I am.”

“First thing tomorrow,” Merlin says as he lays back on his bedroll, “I’m going to go to the river to bathe.”

*

Merlin wakes the next morning feeling far more human than he did the night before. A proper night’s rest after week of travel is exactly what he needed, although he probably won’t be properly rested again until he can stop startling awake at every noise, convinced that Uther himself has come down on them. He, Morgana, and Gwen are the only ones who have actually met Uther, and that tends to elevate them to near mythical status among the camp. After all, they faced down the monster and survived.

Merlin wishes they would listen when he tells them that Uther wasn’t always like this. Uther may have been a hard hearted uncompromising man and a terrible of truly epic proportions, but he was human. He loved Ygraine, still loves Arthur even if he doesn’t show it. Uther may be the cause of all of their misery, but he isn’t some mythical beast that can be slain and the entire world will be safe. He is human, and that makes him more dangerous than any monster.

Merlin groans loudly, and thunks his head back against the ground. It’s too early for this kind of thinking. He’s still grimy, and because he fell asleep before eating a proper dinner, he’s also starving. No ruminating on Uther before breakfast, new rule. All thoughts concerning Uther must wait until after Merlin is awake, functional, and fed.

He pushes open the flap of his tent, and emerges into weak morning sunlight. It’s early enough that the whole world is still grey. The sun has yet to burn through the clouds that always gather in the evenings, mist clings to the roots of the trees, and a cold breeze blows through the trees. Merlin shivers a little in just his shirt and trousers, and sends a silent thanks to Gwaine for wrangling him out them last night.

He ducks back inside his tent, retrieves a fresh set of trousers and a clean shirt, not that he has many of either, and makes his way down to the river. The water babbles merrily over the rocks, and Merlin relaxes into the sound. Something about being this close to the natural world around him makes him feel more alive, like he can feel every living thing. He can feel the thrum of a fox’s heartbeat, and the relentless rush of water down river. He can feel the plants sucking in the sun, the water, and nutrients from the soil. He just feels.

Feeling less cranky, Merlin strips out of his travel stained clothes, and carries them down to the river with him. The first brush of water against his skin makes him hiss. Little icy needles lap against his bare skin, but he grits his teeth and wades in further. He smells disgusting, and if he takes too long to wade in, Gwaine might show up and dunk him in full force. The last time that happened, Merlin had ended up inhaling half the river. It had been worth it at the time to feel like a young man again, and not just a symbol of a half-baked rebellion, but it is not an experience he is keen to repeat.

When he has his breath back, Merlin inhales deeply, and dunks his whole head under the water. The icy cold of it steals the breath that he saved, and he breaches the surface once again gasping for air. His skin breaks into goose flesh, and he rubs at his arms to try to warm up to no avail. Giving comfort up as a lost cause, he sets about getting clean as quickly as possible. The worst of the stains are worked from his clothes with relative ease, and dust and dried sweat no longer cling to him. By the time he emerges onto the bank his fingers have gone stiff from the cold. He wriggles his way into his clothes clumsily, and sighs in relief when he drags his socks over toes that seem more like icicles than appendages.

He gathers the damp clothes into his arms and carries them over to one of the drying lines set up in camp. Once that’s done, he buries his hands into the pockets of his jacket to warm them up. He nods at a few of the other early risers as he goes, and they nod back. He can’t wait for this to be over so he can go back to chasing after Arthur, and not trying to lead a group of desperate people. He’s never envied Arthur his position as Crown Prince, but he envies him even less with every passing day.

Elyan is already at one of the cooking fires when Merlin wanders over, and he raises a hand in greeting. Merlin smiles at him, and decides he may as well sit with the newest member of their group. Besides, it will be nice getting to know Gwen’s brother. This may not be an ideal time for a family reunion, but Merlin is happy for Gwen none the less.

Elyan passes Merlin a bowl of stew silently, and Merlin takes it with a grateful hum. Heat seeps from the bowl, and warms Merlin’s frigid fingers. It draws a relieved sigh from Merlin as he begins to eat. They sit in silence for a while, just enjoying breakfast.

Merlin is the one who breaks the silence, “If I didn’t say it last night, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You and Morgana both seemed knackered.” Elyan dismisses with a little smile.

“Tumbling boulders will take it out of you.”

“Tumbling boulders?”

“That’s where Morgana and I were. We were closing of the mountain pass Bayard was going to use to ally with Uther.”

Elyan nudges him playfully with his shoulder, like Gwaine and Lancelot always do, “You’re a lot breaver than you look, Merlin.”

“Are you saying I look like a coward?” Merlin gasps with false affront.

Elyan chuckles and shakes his head, “You have to admit that no one is going to look at you and think you’re capable of tumbling boulders with your mind.”

“Fair.” Merlin agrees, and slurps down the end of his stew.

Elyan sets aside both their bowls, stands, and nods his head towards the opposite side of the camp, “Come on. I think you should see this.”

Merlin shrugs, and gets to his feet as well. He hadn’t made plans for today anyway, unless waiting around for Arthur or Leon to return with news counts as plans, so he follows where Elyan leads. AS the approach the west side of the camp, Merlin hears an oddly familiar sound. It takes him until they step into a clearing for him to realize what it is. It’s the sound of knights training.

Percival, Gwaine, and Lancelot stride among a collection of people. Some of them have clearly fought before, some of them are clearly farmers or laborers of some kind who have never held a sword before. Regardless, all of them are following instructions with grim determination, sparring with each other, taking notes from their trainers. It reminds Merlin so much of his days in Camelot with Arthur that he nearly cries.

“You got Gwaine to get up early?” he asks, blinking back tears.

Elyan very kindly doesn’t mention Merlin’s reaction to the sight of training, “I think he just wanted an excuse to hit people with a stick.”

Merlin chuckles, nodding his head, “Yeah. That sounds like Gwaine.”

At that moment, Gwaine looks up, and waves at Merlin cheerfully, calling out, “Nice of you to join us!”

“Hey, I’ve been travelling through enemy infested territory for the last week! Give me a break!”

Percival gives Gwaine a playful shove that sends Gwaine staggering sideways because he wasn’t braced for it. Merlin has to press a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud as Gwaine launches himself back at Percival like he’s hoping to win the scrap they get into. Merlin’s heart feels lighter than it has in nearly a year as he wanders over to Lancelot.

“Your idea to start training?” he asks.

“Elyan’s suggestion, actually.” Lancelot answers, “None of the rest of us thought we were much up for teaching, but he pointed out that some instruction is better than leaving them to fend for themselves.”

“Then we’re lucky Gwen has a brother.” 

Lancelot glances anxiously at Elyan as he steps in to take over training while the others are distracted. Merlin raises his eyebrows expectantly, feeling a bit like Gaius.

“I don’t think I can court Gwen without his approval.” Lancelot admits, “I didn’t have to ask anyone before.”

Merlin snorts, and fights back his laughter, “Only you would worry about being disliked by your sweetheart’s brother when you are maybe the best man out of any of us.”

Lancelot looks at Merlin seriously then, eyes heavy with what he’s about to say, “You might be the bravest out of all of us Merlin, and no one has any idea.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Without Bayard’s men we have little chance of winning. We need an alternate plan.” Uther says, glaring down at the map spread in front of him. It’s the only confirmation Arthur gets that Merlin and Morgana succeeded in their mission. His heart soars.

“Sire,” a councilor steps forward bravely, “I think we might be able to rely on Caerleon for support.”

“They have never been a friend to Camelot, why would Caerleon come to our aid now?”

“Attitudes towards magic are changing, sire.” the councilor announces “They know that trying to go against the laws of a kingdom as strong as Camelot is likely not to end well for them. They seek an alliance now so that they may prosper in the future.”

Uther fixes him with a hard look, “Can you guarantee Caerleon’s help?”

“I can send envoys in order to confirm.”

“Do so.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Arthur scribbles it all down on the stacks of parchment spread before him. He’s never taken such diligent notes in his life, but he can’t afford to lose a single detail. He knows this war is moving into an endgame of sorts. If Uther wins now, there won’t be another chance for magic users until Arthur becomes king, and that could be another twenty years down the line. They need to win this war now, and Arthur and Leon are the only ones that can get Merlin the information he needs to start organizing the camp. So Arthur scribbles and scribbles until his hand cramps, then switches to his left.

“What do you think, Arthur?” Uther asks, and Arthur feels all eyes on him. 

He sits up straighter, finishes scribbling his last note, and consults the stack of parchment before him. HE has an opportunity here to steer Uther wrong, buy Merlin more time. It’s a dangerous gambit, but he has to take the risk. Merlin risked getting caught in order to collapse that pass, Arthur can do this for his friends.

“I think we should ally with Nemeth.” He says calmly.

“Nemeth.” Uther says flatly.

Arthur looks up, chin tilted defiantly, every inch the well informed prince. He is, after a fact, he’s just not using that knowledge to further an unjust goal. He can feel Leon shift beside him, and Arthur prays that Leon will be able to keep up with the gambit. If Uther calls on him, Leon can’t waver.

“Nemeth.” Arthur repeats, “They have a larger army than Caerleon, and were already willing to let Bayard pass through to make peace with us. They want stability in the five kingdoms, not war. We have a truce with them, therefore they are inclined to listen to us. We also hold the disputed lands. We can offer up a partial cede of those lands in thanks for help in our crusade.”

The queen is also known to be a magic sympathizer. The King and Queen may not want to go up against Uther in a war, but they will no doubt demand exorbitant repayment for turning their back on the values they hold dear. It’s a well-known secret among those he’s helped flee that Nemeth is a free land for those with magic. Uther trying to elicit help from them will only end in disaster, or discussions so lengthy that Uther will have to give up and seek help elsewhere.

“I think it’s an option worth exploring, Sire.” Leon chimes in, “Arthur was on friendly terms with the Princess Mithian in their youth. Even the possibility of a firm peace grounded in a marriage may be enough to sway them to our side.” 

Uther’s gaze softens slightly, more considering than flinty. For the first time, Arthur realizes how tired Uther looks. The wrinkles around his eyes have deepened considerably like he hasn’t been sleeping, and the sunlight streaming in highlights the new streaks of white through his silver hair. This war has been difficult on him, and for a moment Arthur feels pity. Uther loved Arthur’s Mother deeply, and losing her broke something in him. It doesn’t cause Arthur to regret his choice to help Merlin, he’d already defied his father multiple times on that front before the Purge even commenced, but he does wish that Uther wasn’t so broken, wishes that Uther was still the father he remembered; imperfect, a little distant, but still with the best intentions for the kingdom.

“Then I suggest we offer to host Nemeth here.” Uther says at last, “We cannot presume on their hospitality and then ask them for help. I suggest we also send word to Caerleon, no need to put all of our eggs in one basket.”

“Yes, Sire. I will make arrangements at once.” Geoffrey says, already compiling a list of necessary supplies.

Arthur will hand it to Uther’s men. They may be spineless bootlickers, but they’re efficient. No doubt the messages will reach Caerleon and Nemeth within two days, and the castle will be prepared for guests before they even know they’ve been invited. Uther allying with Caerleon is not ideal, but hopefully one or both parties will be offended by the invitation of the other. Funny that Arthur should be praying for a political disaster.

“We cannot move forward with plans until we know more, therefore I suggest we call this session to a close. Are there any further matters to be discussed?” Uther’s voice is strong and commanding, echoing off the stone walls of the hall.

When no one raises an objection, Geoffrey officially concludes the meeting. Councilors shuffle out, murmuring to one another about the plans. Arthur offers Uther a polite nod, subject to king as is fit for a meeting about strategy, and leaves with Leon hot on his heels. The two of them don’t speak as they make their way to Arthur’s chambers. They’ll have to go down to training soon otherwise it will seem suspicious, the two of the running off immediately after a war council, but they have a few minutes in which to discuss their plans. 

Arthur closes the door behind them, and Leon nods approvingly, “Calling on Nemeth was an excellent approach. It should delay any alliance Uther can make. Though I do have to wonder why you didn’t just tell Merlin to attack before Uther even had the chance to make allies.”

Arthur blows out an exhausted sigh, “I’m hoping that Caerleon and Nemeth being invited at the same time will offend them enough that they will refuse to help fight. If they are prepared to fight for Uther, even just for stability in their own kingdoms, Merlin will end up fighting this war on multiple fronts as more kingdoms rally to the cause. If they arrive here and see how mad Uther has become, word will spread and he will be unable to seek alliances elsewhere. It’s a risky choice, I won’t deny it, but Merlin needs fewer enemies, not more.”

“We can only hope that this works as you hope.” 

“If I knew a way to make this go worse than it already has without compromising my own position, then I would do it.”

Leon takes Arthur by the shoulders, and Arthur startles slightly. No one ever really invades his personal space, Merlin was the only to ever disregard it, but it seems Leon has taken a page out of Merlin’s book. Arthur can’t say he’s going to complain about the extra strength being provided by Leon in that moment. This war has turned him into a rung out washrag. 

“No one doubts how hard you’re working for the cause, Arthur.” Leon says seriously, “You have done more to aid them than any other, even Merlin. I have watched Merlin’s influence help you grow from an arrogant brat to a man of nobility and conviction. What you’re doing now only proves that this strength was within you all along.”

“Thank you, Leon.” Arthur says seriously.

Leon squeezes his shoulders, once, then releases. It’s time for them to head to the training grounds if they want Uther to remain unconcerned about their post-council chats. As they walk down to the armory, Arthur wonders if Leon is right. He feels like a better man than he was before Merlin, but he has no idea if he’s actually become a better man or if he’s still just trying not disappoint one person. 

*

Delegations from Nemeth and Caerleon arrive five days later. Camelot may be locked in an unjust and fruitless war, but Uther still commands great respect. It is in everyone’s best interest not to ignore his summons, couched in a request or not. Arthur stands on the steps to the castle and fights against the churning of his stomach. If this plan fails, he will have handed Uther two powerful allies on a silver platter. He’ll have to tell Merlin to attack while he can, even though it may leave them open to the allies Uther has gathered.

His heart beats heavily in his chest, and a cold wind whips through the courtyard. Arthur has never been a superstitious man, but it feels like a bad omen. Whether a bad omen for him, or a bad omen for Uther, remains to be seen. He hitches a winning grin onto his face, leaning into confidence he does not feel. The safety of every magic user in Camelot, potentially every magic user in the five kingdoms, rests on this plan going the exact way Arthur has designed.

Uther strides forward and claps arms with both the King of Caerleon, and the King of Nemeth. There’s a certain tension around the King of Nemeth’s eyes, like he isn’t well pleased at being greeted second to a mercenary king. Arthur thinks it could be the first sign of cracks showing in Uther’s plans.

He’s spent so long analyzing the body language of all parties involved, he almost misses that Uther has continued to speak. It isn’t until Uther says “This is my son, Arthur”, does Arthur clue back in. He steps forward with an easy stride, and greets both kings the same way as Uther did. If the King of Nemeth didn’t appreciate it the first time he won’t appreciate it a second. It will be seen as Uther giving preference to Caerleon; a sure way to end a treaty before it’s even begun.

They host a feast that night, the first one since the Purge started. Arthur spends the first several minutes sitting tensely in his seat, concerned that Uther will finally notice the fact Merlin is gone. Merlin served him at every feast for nearly a year, and Arthur has been careful not to let slip to Uther that Merlin has gone. Surely, he’ll notice.

When it becomes clear that Uther is too focused on wooing the other kings to notice what servant is doing what, Arthur spots his opportunity to sew discord. The King of Nemeth asks for wine quite often. It isn’t an unseemly amount, but he does seem to get frustrated when the wine bearer isn’t able t immediately able to fulfill his command. Arthur know he’s going to have a wicked headache tomorrow, but it’s worth it if he can ruffle the King of Nemeth.

He watches the King of Nemeth carefully, out of the corner of his eye so as not to be caught. For every sip of wine he takes, Arthur takes one as well. The result is that he finishes his goblet just a moment after the King of Nemeth.

He darts out a hand as the wine bearer goes to pour more wine, and grins winningly, “My cup is empty.”

The servant glances between the two of them awkwardly, but pour Arthur his drink. The pitcher has run empty, and the servant apologize profusely to the King of Nemeth, and runs off to refill it. By the time the servant gets back, the King of Caerleon requires a refill as well and the servant is once more waylaid before getting to the King of Nemeth. The snub could not be more obvious. Arthur keeps the pattern up all night, irritating the King of Nemeth more each time.

He stumbles out of the hall hours later, vision blurred from alcohol. A hand catches him by the elbow, and he flails a moment before recognizing Leon. 

“Artfully done.” Leon says with an amused smile.

Arthur leans heavily on Leon as they climb the stairs up to his chambers, slurring, “Need Gaius’s hangover remedy for tomorrow.”

“I will see to it that it gets delivered.” Leon says kindly, and deposits Arthur on his bed before leaving.

Arthur buries his face in the pillows, and regrets his decision to drink quite so much. He can barely even remember what he hoped to accomplish.

In the morning he wakes to find Gaius’s hang over cure sitting innocently on his desk, and he slugs it back before he can get a good taste of what’s in it. Gaius’s cure is legendary, but Arthur learned as a young lad not to ask what was in the concoctions he was given. He has no desire to know that he’s swallowing sheep’s brain and mushroom goop.

He’s still dressed from the night before, boots and all, and spends the next several minutes staggering around his chambers waiting for the remedy to kick in while trying to remove his own boots. He’s just managed to wrangle a tunic over his head when his doors swing open, and Leon pokes his head inside. He’s grinning, like he expects Arthur to be in much more pain than he is. Arthur decides to let him have his fun, they could both use something to lighten the tension.

“How angry was the King of Nemeth?” Arthur asks tiredly.

“By the end of the night he couldn’t stop glaring.” Leon answers, “I think he feels snubbed.”

“Excellent. To battle then.”

The council chambers are in chaos by the time Arthur arrives. The King of Nemeth is standing at the opposite end of the table from Uther, fists clenched in anger. The King of Caerleon stands tot eh elft, not looking much happier. Uther just looks panicked.

“I assure you, no offense was meant.” Uther is saying.

“No offense meant! You treat Nemeth as second to Caerleon all night, then ask us to ally with them?” The King of Nemeth shouts.

“I don’t see why you have to be so against allying with us.” The King of Caerleon growls.

“You expect us to abandon our principles to ally ourselves with a mercenary?”

“Are you just going to let him stand there and insult us Uther?”

“My lords!” Uther shouts, cutting through the din, “Now is not the time for us to let wounded pride get in the way of a greater goal.”

“ _Your_ greater goal you mean.” The King of Caerleon interrupts, “I came here out of respect for the treaty you signed with my father, but anyone can see this is just a vanity project.”

“A vanity project!” Uther bellows, “How dare you! I have lost my wife to this dark curse that is sorcery! It is a corrupting force! It only destroys!”

“If I recall correctly,” The King of Nemeth interjects, “You asked the Old Religion to save your son, and it did. Nemeth has always allowed sorcery with a few common sense restrictions, as has Caerleon. Are you prepared to invade us if we do not change our laws in accordance with your whims?”

“I will not rest until magic has been scoured from the world!” Uther shouts.

Arthur can see the exact moment when it registers with the visiting kings that Uther has lost it. They slide glances to each other, and shift uncomfortably behind their chairs. Arthur’s heart leaps with victory.

The delegations leave three days later. Uther is left with no allies, and a crumbled reputation. 

After that, planning begins in earnest. Clearly Uther knows their only choice is to attack now, before they lose any more men. The war meetings last longer than ever before as he grows desperate to find a path to rooting out evil. Just as before, Arthur keeps diligent notes. Each time a leg of the campaign is finalized, Arthur either comes up with plans to counter it, or steers Uther to keep the forces closer together. He claims it’s because it’s easier to overwhelm the sorcerers that way, but the truth is that it will conserve energy if they don’t have to pick the men off one by one. 

Eventually the plans to outmaneuver Uther’s men become too complicated for Arthur to plan on his own. He needs Merlin and Morgana’s input. 

At the end of the council meeting, he approaches Uther, “Father, a moment?”

“Of course.”

“Leon and I have just had word of a new camp of sorcerers. We want permission to seek them out. We won’t engage with them, of course, we won’t risk your battle plans this close to the campaign, but if it’s as large as we fear it could impact our plans.”

“Go. Be gone no longer than five days.” Uther commands.

Arthur bows low, nods, “Sire.”

He exits the hall and finds Leon already waiting for him. Arthur grins at him.

“I’ll go pack.” Leon says, a ghost of a smile playing on his face.

*

When Arthur rides into camp, he immediately notices how much has changed. There are men training with swords, for one, and they are actually fairly good. They fight differently, but just as well as any Knight of Camelot. The numbers in the camp have also grown, and Arthur thinks they may have a chance at winning after all.

Morgana and Gwen come tearing across the clearing to greet him, and he accepts their hugs without complaint. He’s missed them and their support since he sent them away. Their self-imposed exile will end soon, he has to believe that. When he looks up, Leon is ruffling Merlin’s hair like an older brother, and Merlin is grinning from ear to ear. It’s the best thing Arthur has seen.

When Merlin catches him looking, he disentangles himself from Leon, and pulls Arthur into a kiss. Arthur can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed at the public display. He’s missed Merlin. He can stand a bit of embarrassment to get to hold him.

“How long do you have?” Merlin asks, pulling away.

“Five days.”

“We better be quick.”

Those five days go by much faster than Arthur would have preferred. The strategy meetings go late into the night and resume early in the morning. The only reprieve Arthur gets is in Merlin’s tent, tucked close to Merlin under rough woolen blankets. They hold each other as tightly as they can, making up for lost time.

The night before Arthur is due to leave, Merlin clings to him so tightly, he’s convinced that he’s going to come away with little finger shaped bruises. It might be worth it though, to carry a physical reminder of Merlin with him. He kisses Merlin’s forehead.

“I can’t stay.” He whispers, heading off the question before it can be asked.

“I know. The whole plan hinges on you returning. Just… try not to get killed.” Merlin says, tucking his head under Arthur’s chin.

“A tall order without you there to keep me safe.” Arthur teases just so he can feel Merlin huff an amused laugh against his skin.

“I’ll always keep you safe.”

“And I you.”


	15. Chapter 15

The morning of the battle dawns cool and cloudy. The world is silent, the usual bustle of the camp is muted, it feels like the whole world knows what’s about to come, and is holding its breath. People gather around the cooking fires, trying to soak in the warmth of both fire and friendship. It’s no secret that there’s a decent chance that many won’t see their friend again after this is all over.

Last night was different. Everyone was loud, boisterous, calling for Uther’s head. Merlin had let them carry on probably alter than he should have, but who is he to tell them to stop enjoying what could be their last night of fun? If they were going to die the next day, Merlin wanted them to have one last shot at feeling alive again.

He crosses the camp, and settles in alongside Morgana at one of the fires. Gwen sits on her other side, sandwiched between her and Lancelot. Maybe it’s selfish, but Merlin desperately hopes that Lancelot makes it through this day, for Gwen. He’s seen the way the two of them are with each other, and even if neither of them will admit it just yet, there’s love building. It reminds him of him and Arthur in the early days. Okay, not the way they speak to each other because Lancelot is a noble soul and would never dream of calling Gwen a prat or an idiot, but the way they look at each other, like they can’t take their eyes away for very long. Merlin remembers that feeling all too well.

Gwaine appears from somewhere and settles on Merlin’s other side. He passes him a bowl of stew, and Merlin stares at it blankly. The thought of eating anything turns his stomach, and he moves to set it aside, but Gwaine’s hand on his arm stops him.

“You have to eat. Trust me, if you don’t you’ll get weak on the battlefield, and where would we be without our fearless leader?” Gwaine jokes, but the laughter doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Not so fearless.” Merlin admits, with twist of his mouth.

“Good.” Morgana says, and squeezes his knee, “Fear is what keeps us alive. If you weren’t afraid, then you wouldn’t be fit to lead.”

“I’ve never seen Arthur be afraid.”

Morgana smiles, soft and reminiscing, “His first tourney, he threw up so hard the morning of that he almost passed out. He’s just gotten better at hiding it since then because of Uther.”

There’s a certain comfort in that. If a battle hardened warrior can be afraid, then no one can expect any better than that from Merlin. He lets himself feel afraid, and somehow that makes him feel better. The fear makes his heart beat quicker in his chest, it shortens his breath, but it also fuels his magic. He can feel it swirling in him, ready to take back the life he was forced to leave behind. Even if he doesn’t survive this day, magic will be brought back.

They lapse into silence after that, words eluding them in the early morning light. Merlin spends his time trying to memorize the faces around him. He fixes an image of Gwaine’s nose in his mind, Morgana’s determined eyes, Gwen’s warm smile, Lancelot’s gentle voice, Elyan’s quickness, Percival’s bulk, he tries to remember something about all the friends he’s made here in case he never sees them again. He just wishes he could have Arthur here to do the same thing. He supposes he has enough memories of Arthur to last, but the idea of not getting one last look at him is nearly overwhelming.

When it’s finally time, Merlin rises to his feet and walks to the middle of the camp. He tries to remember how Arthur held himself in Ealdor; tall, strong, certain. He’s not sure how well he’s pulled it off, but it’ll have to do. He had planned to forgo the big battle speech altogether, but Gwen and Morgana had both insisted that their people needed a promise to hold onto, proof, however flimsy, that the battle could be won.

He wipes sweaty hands on his trousers, tilts his chin up high, and says in the most commanding voice he can muster, “Friends, we ride today to fight for our kind.”

What little chatter there is, dies off. All eyes turn to him, and Merlin feels briefly ill with all the attention. He never wanted to be the face of any fight, he was perfectly content to ride in Arthur’s shadow. There’s no walking it back now, though. He stepped in as their leader, so he has to keep pretending like he knows what he’s doing, and pray that it turns out he actually does.

“Uther is vicious, and brutal. He seeks only to kill. He wants to wipe our kind from existence; sorcerer and supporter alike. He considers us a threat to his rule. Let’s prove him right.”

A few muted cheers come back to him at that. It bolsters his courage, floods him with hope. He thinks he sort of understands why people fight so hard to be in power if this is what you get in return; respect, devotion. Even so, he still can’t wait to give this up.

“Uther will not defeat us, because we are not fighting to kill, we are fighting to live. We are fighting for each other, for our families that are still in hiding, and for peace. Here, today, we make a stand for magic’s right to live side by side with those without it. If we fall, we fall fighting for the noblest of causes. And one day, when you’re old and grey, you will look back on this day and know you earned the right to live every day in between. So you fight for yourselves, your family, your friends, and for magic!”

The resulting “For magic!” shakes the trees with the force of it. The chant echoes into the grey sky, and Merlin hopes that somehow Uther hears it. Let him know that they are coming, and that they won’t give up. Let him feel the fear they’ve felt the last year. 

“You know your tasks, move out.” Merlin says once the cheers have started to die down.

One by one, the bands leave. There’s two fighters for every one magic user, and Merlin prays to any deity that might be listening that they’re able to keep each other safe. He keeps himself as imposing as he can as he returns to the fire to say goodbye to the friends who won’t ride out with him. Morgana is smirking at him by the time he returns.

“Did you really just rip off Arthur’s Ealdor speech?” she asks, grinning.

Merlin shrugs sheepishly, “It was a good speech, and I was pressed for time. Besides, who do you think helped write it to begin with?”

Morgana shake her head fondly, and presses a kiss to Merlin’s cheek, “I will maintain that he does not deserve you, but I suppose you fit in a way no one was really expecting.”

“Be safe?” Merlin asks, “For me and Arthur both.”

“I will be as safe as I can be considering we are literally riding into battle.” Morgana promises, and squeezes his hands.

Merlin watches as she, another sorceress, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Lancelot disappear into the woods. He whispers the same blessing after them that he’s done for Arthur and Leon every time they left camp. He still has no proof that is works, but it makes him feel a hell of a lot better.

Finally, it’s just Merlin’s group left. He shoots Gwaine a nervous smile, and Gwaine pulls him in for a hug. Merlin clings to him like a child for several long moments. Out of all his friends, he’s become closest with Gwaine. If anything happens to him, Merlin might break. He’s not even sure if reuniting with Arthur will be enough to put him back together after a loss like that.

“You can do this, my friend.” Gwaine whispers into his ear, and Merlin nods against his shoulder.

Their plan is hardly foolproof. Arthur’s had to do a lot of guessing about Uther’s strategies, and there’s no way for him to warn Merlin and change course if Uther makes a last minute change to the finalized campaign. They are relying on magic’s strength, and Arthur and Leon’s abilities to sway knights to their side. Last time Arthur was here, he swore that the recruiting amongst Uther’s ranks was going well, but men have been known to act like idiots before. There’s nothing to say they won’t panic now, and mess up the careful planning.

“I don’t want anyone to die for me.” Merlin whispers back.

Gwaine takes a half step away, and rests his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, “You said it yourself. They aren’t fighting for you, they’re fighting for the right to live their lives in peace. If they die, they die so that others like them can live.”

“Guess I should pay attention to my own words.” Merlin jokes, forcing a smile and a laugh.

Gwaine ruffles Merlin’s hair, nods, and steps fully back, “We better get going.”

Merlin’s band is the smallest of them all; only him, Gwaine, and a couple more fighters. They’re the only ones riding directly to the front lines, everyone else is staying hidden until Arthur gives the signal for Uther’s men to attack. The hopes is that Uther’s men will get cocky at seeing such a small group, and lead themselves into trouble. It’s the best they have going for them at the moment.

The leaves crunch under the horse’s hooves as they ride, otherwise they move silently to the battle field. Everyone should be in position by now, so Merlin can only hope that this plan goes off without a hitch, unlike the plan in Ealdor. If this goes wrong, the cost is going to be so much higher than the Battle of Ealdor.

They arrive on the battlefield, and Merlin forces his stomach to stay where it is and not go swooping down through his boots. He knew Uther’s men were plentiful, they’d been fighting them long enough to know, and before that Merlin had spent time in Camelot. Still, it’s one thing to see all these knights in passing, when they’re relaxed and joking with Arthur, and quite another to face them down when they are intent on killing you. No wonder bravery was such a commendable trait in the knighthood. You had to have nerves of steel to be able to face down a fully armed battalion and not run screaming in the other direction.

He gestures for Gwaine to stay, then rides forward. Across the field from him, Arthur does the same. This greeting will have to be less showy than the last one. Everyone is well aware of the fact that this is the last stand. Whoever wins this battle, will decide the fate of magic for the next hundred years. They’ll expect Arthur and Merlin to act the same way.

“Merlin of Ealdor,” Arthur’s voice rings out as they approach each other, and Merlin can see the uncomfortable shifting of many of the knights. Apparently none of them recognized him now that he has the beard. Funny how he always thought that wasn’t enough in fairytales, “You have been conspiring with sorcery for the better part of the year. You have brought war to Camelot’s doorstep, and we are prepared to strike down your pathetic bid for power. Surrender now, and we can guarantee a quick death for yourself and your followers.”

“Did Uther throw his words into your mouth? Because that is unsanitary.” Merlin retorts, just to see Arthur crack a smile. It has its intended effect, “We do not fight for power, Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot. We fight for peace, and the right to live among you. It was not long ago that the Pendragon line welcomed the council of our kind, and as such we have our own demands to make. We, the People of the Old Religion, hereby charge Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, with the rampant murder of our kind.”

Arthur’s eyes widen at that. Apparently he hadn’t expected Merlin to charge Uther with anything, but it needed to be said. Arthur nods slightly, indicating respect for Merlin’s choice. Singling out Uther lends their fight credence. It shows that they are not here as an invading force, just as a persecuted people. 

“Very well, if you will not surrender,” Arthur calls, “then we fight.”

“Then we fight.” Merlin agrees.

A cheer goes up from the men behind Arthur, and it’s all Merlin can do to keep himself from wheeling Brown Horse around and running in the other direction. In front of him, Arthur’s eyes grow sad but accepting. Neither of them wants to put on this charade, but it’s necessary. Carefully, so only Merlin’s people can see it, Arthur raises two fingers, and taps right over his heart. They’ve never used this gesture before, but Merlin knows Arthur well enough to know what it means; I love you.

Merlin nods his understanding, and subtly taps two fingers against his own leg. It isn’t the same gesture that Arthur used, but he knows Arthur will understand anyway. It’s not like he can declare his love in full view of an enemy army. He turns Brown Horse around, and rides back to Gwaine. Arthur rides back to Leon.

He doesn’t hear Arthur’s call to charge, but he sees it when it happens. The army behind him moves, like a crimson wave, sweeping up the ground and leaving nothing in its wake. Just like they planned, the bands of the Old Religion come streaming out of the trees. It’s a dirty tactic, and that’s exactly why Arthur said to use it. Large swathes of Uther’s army get corralled away from charging Merlin, and are instead forced to contend with sorcerers and fighters alike.

The air is filled with screams of pain, terror, anger. Brilliant lights flash over head as sorcerers hurl battle magic at their opponents. Steel clashes against steel, crimson cloaks drop out of view as quickly as the rough garb of Merlin’s friends. Morgana appears on the filed next, cutting a path through the center of Uther’s men with the help of the fighters and Gwen. There’s no sign of the sorceress meant to back her up. There’s no way to tell whether she was hurt, or if she simply got cold feet.

“I have to go help Morgana.” Merlin says to Gwaine.

Gwaine seems less than pleased by the idea, but he nods, “Ride. I have your back.”

Merlin urges Brown Horse onward, and follows Morgana’s trail. One of Uther’s men swings at his head, and Merlin blasts him away with an instinctual use of his magic. Behind him he can hear Gwaine grunting with the effort of preventing someone else closing in on them. Merlin glances over his shoulder, and tosses that man away too. 

It nearly costs him. In his distraction another of Uther’s men has managed to close in, and Merlin only just manages to dodge the jab to his gut. Brown Horse rears, and even though it’s not a war horse, it does a mighty fine job of kicking in the man’s skull. Merlin has to look away. He’s killed people to keep others safe, certainly, but magic made it all so much less bloody and gruesome.

He catches up to the back of Morgana’s group, and Lancelot glances over his shoulder. He grimaces when he sees Merlin.

“What happened?” Merlin shouts, and throws another soldier away.

Lancelot shakes his head, “She panicked.”

The battlefield around them has turned to mud both from the early morning dew, and the blood spilled. It splatters with every step, and coats men and horses alike. They need to turn the tide before any more people get hurt. He looks around wildly, and finally spots Arthur locked in a false battle with Percival, just as they planned.

Morgana blasts open another hole in Uther’s defenses, and it’s the opportunity they need. It gives Arthur and Leon room to operate. Merlin whistles shrilly, and Gwaine and Arthur stop fighting. Arthur takes a look at the opened defense, and grins triumphantly. It may not have won this battle yet, but it gives them a fighting chance.

“Special Battalion on me!” Arthur shouts.

Nearly a hundred of Uther’s men break away from their struggles with sorcerers, and flock to Arthur’s side. Leon rides up behind them, just as ready to lead and fight for what is right as Arthur is. Confusion ripples through Uther’s ranks, and then a cry of “Traitor” echoes around them.

Arthur charges back at the soldiers of Camelot.

It’s a gamble. The plan was that Arthur’s men would be so confused by the change that they’d stop fighting, and make it easier to force them off the field. It only works for about half of them. The other half is outraged, and redouble their efforts, focusing their attention on Arthur. They don’t seem inclined to hold any quarter, perhaps because so many turned at once. Even they know that sorcerers can’t control that many at once.

Crimson fights crimson, and both go down. It becomes nearly impossible to tell who is who any longer, especially when Merlin works to hold people off of him and Morgana and the rest. 

His magic burns under his skin. It’s never been this powerful, or alive. Arthur had told him once that his eyes turned gold when he used it, and Merlin can feel that now. His eyes burn like his veins, and magic frees itself from him in waves, knocking aside soldier after soldier. His only indication that his friends are still alive is that he can feel the thrumming of their heartbeats alongside his. He can feel the absence of every life he takes, now, with his magic this extended, and he hates it. He never wanted to use his magic to do anything this destructive.

Merlin isn’t sure how long they’ve fought, but he can tell they’re losing. The crimson wave creeps closer and closer to them, and Merlin knows they’re outmanned despite their best effort. He knows what he has to do now, and he’s glad he never told Arthur about it. If he had, then he would have tried to stop it.

Merlin turns to Morgana and the rest, “Get them out of here.”

“What?” Morgana asks, eyes wide with fear.

“Go. You’re the only person as powerful as me. You need to go, and take them with you. Arthur, Leon, Gwaine, Gwen, all of them. You’ll need them if we don’t want the battle to end here.”

“Merlin, what are you planning to do?”

“Go Morgana!” Merlin shouts.

Something in his face must encourage her to trust his decision, because she nods and then relays his orders. She sends him one last sad look, and rides off, their friends right behind her. A few soldiers try to pursue, but she has them handled before they even reach the tree line. Merlin has never been so proud of her in all the time he’s known her.

He dismounts Brown Horse, and whispers a spell. It follows in Morgana’s wake, fleeing the battle as well. Merlin goes to his knees in the mud, and digs his fingers into it. He lets his magic sink into the ground, arc its way along the ley lines crisscrossing all of Albion. His magic slips away from him, and he feels his mind go with it. He knows he won’t be able to come back to himself after this.

The rumbling starts in his ears, and he smiles to himself. It’s working. He can feel it cracking open along the invisible lines of magic. He thinks he might be chanting, but he can’t hear himself over the rushing of wind in his ears.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he startles awake. To his horror, Arthur is kneeling next to him. Blood streaks his face, and his eyes are wide and terrified. Merlin shakes his head wildly.

“You were supposed to go with Morgana!” Merlin shouts, “Get away! I could hurt you!”

Arthur’s hand tightens on his shoulder, and he leans closer, “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t leave you again.”

Then he kisses Merlin. It’s like all his magic has sucked itself back into him, as golden and as bright as sunshine. It builds under his hands once more, gathers up his arms, his neck, his face. He can feel when it spreads through Arthur, Arthur’s heartbeat loud in Merlin’s ears and next to his own heart. 

Then it rips out of him with the force of a storm. The earth tears open with an almighty scream, and Merlin gasps, falling sideways away from Arthur. The last thing he sees before it all goes black, is two men grabbing Arthur and pulling him away.


	16. Chapter 16

Arthur sees it when Merlin starts to slip away. He gets this serene look on his face, even as his eyes are closed in concentration, and his skin grows paler by the moment. Arthur knows he should follow Morgana and the rest, retreat into the woods in order to make a second volley later if Uther continues to pursue the Great Purge, but he can’t. Merlin has sacrificed so much for this cause already. He gave up a comfortable life in Camelot being protected by Arthur’s shadow, he gave up a return to Ealdor, and he gave up safety and comfort. Arthur can’t let him sacrifice his life as well.

He’s down on his knees in the mud next to Merlin before he’s even had a chance to think about it properly. All he knows is that he has to keep Merlin from losing himself in the earth. Merlin, above all other feelings they may have for one another, is his best friend. Arthur’s already gone a year without being consistently in Merlin’s presence. Were he to lose that permanently, he doesn’t know what he would do. He grips Merlin’s shoulder tightly, and Merlin whips around to look at him. His eyes are glowing gold, which is to be expected, but they are brighter than he’s ever seen them.

“You were supposed to go with Morgana!” Merlin shouts, “Get away! I could hurt you!”

Arthur’s tightens his grip on Merlin’s shoulder, and leans closer. If this the last thing Merlin hears from him, he wants Merlin to be able to hear it clearly, “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t leave you again.”

He kisses Merlin then, trying to pour all his love and desperation into it. Magic floods his system. It arcs across every nerve ending, burns wherever he’s touching Merlin. It doesn’t hurt, not really, it’s like he can feel Merlin’s very essence inside his own skin, Merlin’s heart next to his. It swirls through him in brilliant golden eddies, then tears itself free of him and slams into the earth.

There’s a loud rumble, and an almighty crack. Arthur watches in awe as the earth itself rips open along some invisible fault. The ground rumbles beneath his feet, rolling like waves in an ocean, and Merlin slumps to the side.

Arthur dives for him, and the rumbling slows to a stop. There’s no coming back from that now. Uther’s army is devastated. Most of them fell into the ravine, and the lucky few who escaped make for the hills, clearly having the good sense not to go up against a sorcerer of this caliber. He pushes some of Merlin’s curls from his forehead, and presses a kiss there. 

They’ve done it. They came to this battle undermanned, outmaneuvered, and desperate. Despite all that, they’ve won. After a defeat like this, no one is going to want to back Uther. They’ll see him as a mad man who angered a powerful enemy for his own vanity. Even the kingdoms that leaned in the direction of their own purge will be forced to reconsider after the victory they’ve had this day. 

“Merlin, are you alright?” Arthur asks softly.

Merlin murmurs something unintelligible, golden light still flickering in and out of his eyes. Arthur breathes a sigh of relief. Merlin might be ill for a few days, but after magic like that there was bound to be consequences, even for a man the druids believe to be the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. The important bit, however, is that Merlin’s alright. He didn’t let the magic kill him, and he still has a life to lead after this. He has a life with Arthur after this. Whatever life that may be. He highly doubts Uther is going to take this very obvious betrayal well. Arthur will be lucky if he escapes with is head.

That doesn’t matter. Merlin will be okay.

Arthur drops his head to rest on Merlin’s shoulder, suddenly exhausted. He’s spent the better part of a year sneaking around, lying, strategizing. It’s all over now, and Arthur feels like he’s suddenly been gifted the ability to breathe. Magic sparks off of Merlin’s skin, and a few of those sparks flicker against Arthur’s forehead where it’s pressed into Merlin.

The sound of boots in the mud is his only warning. Apparently there is one contingency of soldiers who survived and are stupid enough to align themselves with a thoroughly defeated king. Perhaps they don’t realize, yet, what this victory means, even if everyone else does. Regardless, they approach Arthur, swords drawn. One of them has a set of manacles hanging from his hands.

Arthur considers running. He knows that he’s faster than them, and he could get lost in the trees easily enough after a year of creeping around them. Then he looks down at Merlin. His eyes are starting to lose focus, and Arthur knows it won’t be long until Merlin falls unconscious. If Arthur runs, they’ll run a sword through Merlin just to make sure he’s dead, and he can’t let that happen. If he stands his ground and struggles, they’ll be too focused on taking him away. They won’t get the opportunity to even think Merlin might still be alive. Arthur can do this one last thing. After all the times Merlin has saved his life, Arthur can do this for him.

He staggers to his feet, fighting the exhaustion that threatens to drag him under and keep him there for days. He raises his sword, and takes as firm a grip on it as he can manage. The first soldier goes after him, and Arthur manages to beat him back. It costs him though. His boots sink into the mud, slowing him down. He keeps his sword up, prepared to fight until the very end, for dignity’s sake if nothing else.

It isn’t a particularly long fight. He is disarmed within a few moments, and forced to his knees in the mud once more. Heavy manacles are clapped around his wrists, the chain hanging heavy between them. Arthur never realized how brutal a punishment just being forced to carry the weight of that chain is. Shame he won’t ever get the chance to do something about it.

“Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot,” one of the soldiers says, voice muffled from behind his helmet, “We are hereby arresting you for high treason. May the king have mercy on your soul.”

Arthur once more staggers to his feet, but keeps his chin held high. He’s proud of what he’s done here today, even if it will cost him his life. After this Merlin, Morgana, the others like them, all of them will be free. Uther may not change the laws of Camelot, but he won’t hold the throne after this either. If he’s lucky, Nemeth will be the one doing the conquering. They tend to be far less vicious in their assault than Mercia or Essetir. Arthur doesn’t relish the thought that Camelot will fall, but he knows that if he isn’t king, then it must. It can’t continue to persecute magic like this.

He spares one last look over his shoulder as he’s dragged away. Merlin’s eyes are bright, focused on him, and he reaches one hand out towards Arthur as though he’s going to make an attempt to stop the guards. Arthur shakes his head, but he can’t be certain if that’s why Merlin stops. His eyes roll back in his head, and he slumps to the ground. All Arthur can do now is hope that Leon or Morgana come to find him. 

Arthur keeps his head up, even as he’s marched into what’s left of the Camelot camp. People stare at him, open mouthed, no doubt wondering why their prince is in chains. The story will have reached the entire camp by sundown, everyone will know what he did. So be it. He fought for what he believed in, what was right. They can hate him all they want. Arthur knows, possibly for the first time, that what he’s done was the right course of action.

One of the soldiers detaches himself their little group, and hurries over to one of Uther’s generals. They talk in quiet tones that don’t carry, but Arthur knows that they must be talking about him. They’re probably trying to figure out what to do with him. Weighing the possibility of Uther’s favor if they bring him the head of a traitor, versus if they bring him is disgraced son. In the end, the soldier comes scurrying back over.

“General Murdoch told me that we should escort him immediately back to the castle.” He announces.

The soldiers standing behind Arthur groan, probably as tired as he is. Their uniforms are as streaked with mud as his is, and one of them is walking with a distinct limp, a battle injury of some kind. None of them have removed their helmets yet, but Arthur is willing to bet that they’re sweating under there. Safe to say none of them are looking forward to the hour walk back to Camelot.

“Can’t we tie him over a horse?” the soldier with the nasally voice complains, echoing Arthur’s thoughts.

The first soldier shakes his head, “The General said there were no horses to spare. We lost too many of them when that damn sorcerer ripped open the earth.”

Arthur winces a bit at that. He knows this was the only way for them to come out of this on top, but the death of all those fine creatures doesn’t sit well with him. He picked a lot of those horses out himself. It’s just yet another side effect of Uther’s bigotry and vanity. 

The march back to Camelot is more of a slog really. The soldiers try to engage him in conversation more than once, asking if he’s been enchanted, but Arthur refuses to answer. He’s been the person hauling criminals to the dungeons before, and he knows all the tricks. He won’t let anything slip that will land him in even more trouble than he is in now. Besides, he won’t give them the satisfaction of cracking. They’re going to have to try a lot harder to make that happen, and they can’t actually do anything to him without Uther’s permission.

They arrive in the citadel just after dark, and the people of the lower town all look at him in confusion as he is marched steadily towards the castle. It’s meant to humiliate and rattle him, make him more susceptible to the court’s pressure when they put him on trial later. He finds no contempt in their eyes as he walks. He knew that his smuggling network with Leon, Gwen, and Morgana had become a rather open secret among the people who needed help, but it must have reached more than he realized. They look at him with admiration. One man even dips his head in a bow when the soldiers are temporarily distracted talking to a city guard.

Arthur is expecting the dungeons, but to his surprise he is marched the opposite way. At first he thinks he’s going to be taken straight to Uther, but relief settles in his bones when it becomes clear that he’s being taken to his own chambers. He knows he left a pitcher of water there before he rode out for battle, and the idea of washing away the blood on his face sounds really good, even if it means being locked in his rooms until Uther can figure out what to do with him.

Three times the usual number of guards stand outside his door, and Arthur regards them with his usual haughtiness that Merlin told him off for so many time in the past. He thinks he’ll be forgiven this once, after all he has to remind them he’s still the prince until Uther inevitably chops of his head. If he’s not going to talk, then he has to carry himself with air of nobility he was born with. Merlin always said it made him look like he had a stick up his ass.

He’s shoved unceremoniously into his room, and hey remove the manacles. The door closes behind them with a loud click, and it’s followed by a heavy thud of something being shoved against the outside in lieu of a proper lock.

Arthur struggles out of his armor, wishing Merlin were there to help him. He manages to get it all off eventually, but his gets a shoulder cramp, where the Questing Beast bit him, for his troubles. It’s wild to think that that only happened a little over a year ago. He feels like he’s lived lifetimes since then.

The pitcher is still where he left it, and he uses it scrub himself as best he can. The water turns grey from the amount of mud he removes, and then a dark brown when he wipes the blood from his face. None of it is his thankfully, but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant. Figuring he’s not going to get any cleaner now, he changes into a new set of clothes. They aren’t as clean as the ones in his wardrobe, and he knows he shouldn’t be picky, but the idea of sliding into a perfectly clean set of trousers when he hasn’t had a proper bath makes him feel ill.

He settles at the end of the dining table to wait. Word will have reached Uther by now. IT’s only a matter of time.

In the end, Arthur doesn’t have to wait long. He can hear Uther shouting from several corridors away. He braces himself, and does not flinch when the door to his chambers bangs open with force enough to cause it to scratch the stone. Uther is wild eyed and wild, staring at Arthur with a mix of fury and concern.

“What happened?” he snarls, “When were you enchanted?”

Arthur was expecting this. He sinks back in his chair, exuding as much arrogance as he can muster, and says, “I was never enchanted, Father.”

“So you freely admit to committing treason!”

“Yes, Sire.”

Uther takes a step back, eyes bulging in his head, “How could you Arthur? After all the evil magic has done, after it killed your own mother, how could you side with them?”

“Magic isn’t evil.” Arthur says calmly, “It is a power just like anything else, but we had struck peace with magic and magic kind long ago. You’re the one who upset the balance because you couldn’t handle the consequences of your own actions.”

“No son of mine would dare to speak to me in such a way!”

“I am the only one who can.”

“Magic is a dark, corrupting force! It sneaks into the hearts of good men, and makes them wicked! It brings nothing but chaos and bloodshed tot eh world! I did not start this crusade for my own health! I did it to protect the people of Camelot!”

“The sorcerers and druids were people of Camelot too!” Arthur roars.

Uther stumbles back, as if he’s been struck, and clutches at his chest, “Treason! My own—”he wheezes, short of air, “My own son has been—” another wheeze, “has been compelled…”

Uther lets out a pained groan, and goes weak in his knees. His face is scrunched up in pain. Arthur launches himself from his chair, and lands on his knees besides Uther. When Uther tries to shove him away, is the weakest Arthur has ever seen him. Uther is dying.

The reality hits Arthur like a kick to the chest. There’s something wrong with Uther’s heart, and he’s dying. He hates what his father has become, but he can’t shake the part of him that is still the little boy who loves his father no matter what he does.

“Guards! Somebody!” Arthur shouts desperately, “Somebody help! Get Gaius!”

Even before Gaius gets there, Arthur knows it’s too late. Uther is gone.

*

Arthur enters the council chambers, eyeing everyone as he comes to stand at the end of the table. The guards have been gracious enough to release him from his shackles long enough for him to stand trial. He’s even had a chance for a bath. All in all he’s in the strongest position he could be when facing down his father’s men. Gaius has already done a great deal of the work, convincing them all that Arthur was not responsible for Uther’s death. The heart attack was stress induced and a long time coming.

“Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, you sand accused of high treason against the late King Uther of Camelot.” One of the councilors announces and Arthur resists rolling his eyes, “how do you plead?”

“Guilty.” Arthur says calmly.

“So you don’t deny it?”

He’s beginning to feel like he’s talking to his father all over again, but he keeps his irritation to himself, “My father, our late king, grew mad after the death of my mother, Queen Ygraine. He took his pain out on other people, and though it pained me to betray the man who raised me, it had to be done. I knew I could not be the king I was meant to be if I allowed injustice to occur and did nothing to stop it.”

The councilors shift uncomfortably, eyeing one another for who might speak next. They probably thought Arthur was going to start spouting about how he deserved the power that being king brought, that Uther was weak. Calling them on injustice has put them in the hot seat.

“He did become… a bit of a zealot in the last days.” A different councilor suggests at last.

All the air rushes from Arthur’s lungs in surprise. He didn’t expect a single one to be on his side. They certainly had seemed to agree with Uther at the time. If there is one thing that Lords like however, Arthur muses, it’s stability. War, especially one as long and drawn out as this, has a tendency to drain resources rather than provide them.

“It does seem as though Arthur was acting in the interest of the people.” Geoffrey adds.

A few more voices chime in, all echoing similar sentiments. It seems like third cousin Alfred isn’t going to be taking the throne after all.

“Given the extraordinary circumstances,” Geoffrey says at last, “I think we can all agree. We shall pardon for his crimes against the crown, provided he never seems to be working against Camelot’s interests again.”

It’s a nonsense sentence, and they all know it. With Uther gone, Arthur will step in as king. He can’t very well commit treason against himself. He refrains from saying so out loud, but does take note of the councilors in attendance. He’ll need to make some replacements after his coronation, and he’s going to start with the ones who backed Uther most vocally, and look displeased that he’s been pardoned. He can’t bring magic back into the light with men like that on his council.

He smiles gratefully, and inclines his head, oozing humility and thankfulness, “I will, of course, seek to bolster Camelot at every opportunity. I thank you for understanding what I did, and why. My father will be deeply missed, but I hope we can bring a new era of peace.”

Arthur hasn’t technically staged a coup, but he can’t shake that feeling from himself even after he’s left the council chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter! Thank you all for sticking around this long. Feel free to [come visit me on tummblr!](https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's finished! Thank you all for sicking around! This is the longest fic I have ever written, and for a while I thought I might give up on it/
> 
> Want more fic? Want to see terrible Merlin memes? Feel free to [come visit me on tumblr!](https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/)

Morning light filters in through the window next to Arthur’s bed, and Merlin whines a little as it hits his eyes. He isn’t ready to be awake yet. He’s far too warm and comfortable to move so much as a pinky, let alone get out and face the day. Slowly he becomes aware of a gentle tickle against his arm, and he cracks one eye open. Arthur is propped up on one elbow, gazing at the skin of Merlin’s arm like it’s more precious to him than anything else in the world.

Merlin’s eyes drift shut once more, but a smile creeps onto his face unbidden, “Are you watching me?” he asks, amused.

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin.” Arthur grumbles, but he doesn’t stop trailing his fingertips against Merlin’s skin.

Merlin shifts closer, and buries his face in Arthur’s side, reveling in the warmth. It has stopped being quite so chilly, but he’s enjoying the fact that it’s Arthur’s body there to keep him warm. It’s Arthur who is making him feel whole and safe once more. Arthur’s hand slips from his arm to start running trails against his spine instead, and he presses an awkward kiss to Merlin’s forehead.

“You need a haircut.” Arthur says, laying back down properly.

Merlin tosses his arm over Arthur’s waist, and Arthur’s arm comes up around his shoulders. He presses a kiss to Arthur’s chest, then tilts his head up to smile at him teasingly.

“I thought you said that the long hair and beard were attractive. And you certainly enjoyed my beard last night.”

“That’s it.” Arthur exclaims, “All of my feelings about you were just war time desperation. Leave my bed and never return.”

Merlin snorts and buries his face in Arthur’s neck, and Arthur tugs him closer, “If you really want me to cut it, I will. I’m not all that attached.”

“No.” Arthur sighs, “Keep it. I will just have to get used to pushing your obnoxious mop out of the way whenever I wish to kiss you.”

“Such sacrifices, your majesty.”

“I’m not king yet, Merlin.”

“Good as.” Merlin points out, “Your coronation is today.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, and sinks lower under the covers, “Yes, thank you for your prompt reminders. I would have completely forgotten.”

Merlin shifts and props himself up on Arthur’s chest. Arthur has that faraway look in his eye that always means he’s thinking far too hard about something. He hasn’t said as much, but Merlin knows that Arthur’s been worried. The council meeting after Uther’s death had gone so smoothly, they’ve both been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Arthur is still convinced most people believe he helped the magic movement in order to gain the throne for himself, not because he actually cared. No matter how many times Merlin has assured him that’s not the case, it doesn’t stop Arthur from fretting.

“You’ll be a good king, you know.” Merlin says matter-of-factly.

Arthur shakes his head, grey morning light washing out thee gold of his hair to give way to something more mousey, “I’m not sure I will.”

“You already are, Arthur.” Merlin insists, “You stood up to a man who would have wiped the old religion from the world, even though there was no guarantee that you would survive the fight, let alone become king. You did it for justice. That is exactly what people want from a king. Someone who is fair, and just.”

“It’s easy for you to believe in me. We’ve been courting since before this war started. Your judgement is clouded.”

“When have I ever been known to be anything other than a pain in your ass about your behavior?”

“Fair point.” Arthur admits with an amused crinkle to his brow.

Merlin settles back down, fitting his fingers into the divot above Arthur’s hip, “Besides, you won’t be on your own. You’ll have me, Morgana, Leon, Gwen, all of your new knights.”

“I’m still not sure about knighting them considering they fought against Camelot.”

“And now you’re just being difficult. It’ll be fine Arthur. You can do this.”

Arthur opens his mouth, probably preparing to protest, but he shuts it again. He rolls his eyes at Merlin fondly, and kisses him. They stay like that for a while, tangled together in bed. Neither of them want to let go, not after this war has kept them apart for so damn long. All Merlin wants to do is hold onto Arthur for the rest of eternity, and judging by the way Arthur keeps rubbing his thumb against Merlin’s shoulder as if reassuring himself Merlin is still there, he feels the same.

“I need to get dressed.” Arthur murmurs into Merlin’s hair.

Merlin hums, and shrugs, “Better get started then. I know how long it can take you without help.”

“Who says I won’t have help?”

“I’m afraid your last manservant was given the sack, and you haven’t hired a new one. I don’t know who else you would get to help you.”

“I don’t know,” Arthur says petulantly, “perhaps the man currently lying naked in my bed?”

Merlin shrugs again, “Sorry. I refuse to work without pay. I lost any savings I had living in the woods.”

“Fine. You’re rehired. Now help me get dressed.”

Merlin laughs, and they both drag themselves out of bed. Merlin squirms into the clothes he was wearing last night, then goes over to Arthur’s wardrobe. The gambeson is just where he always hung it, and it makes something in Merlin’s chest squeeze. So many things have changed, but it’s comforting in a way to see that so much has stayed the same.

He stumbles through helping Arthur into his chainmail, his fingers not as sure as they were a year ago. Most of it comes back easily enough, but it’s another reminder of how long they’ve been apart. Used to be that Merlin could do this in his sleep, and practically has before. Arthur was far too fond of early morning hunts for someone who refused to get out of bed on time ever. 

Merlin smooths out the cape at Arthur’s shoulders, even though it doesn’t really need it, places the crown on his head and steps back to admire his handy work. The crown looks ridiculous on him, far too sturdy and pointed to fit Arthur. Merlin itches to conjure one that would actually make sense on him, but resists. Arthur hasn’t had the authority to reverse the ban just yet, and while he knows he wouldn’t be hauled away, he doesn’t trust the few supporters of Uther’s that are still on council. All it takes is one of them accusing Merlin of breaking the law for this delicate peace to come tumbling down. 

“How do I look?” Arthur asks.

“Would a comedic reply crush you?” Merlin teases.

Arthur huffs and rolls his eyes, drags him in and kisses him, “Why do I put up with you?”

“I could ask myself the same question about you.” Merlin says, but smiles, “You look good. Very kingly.”

“You better get going then. I expect you to be dressed in your finest for this momentous occasion.” 

Merlin stares at Arthur flatly, “I’ve been living in the woods for over a year. This is my finest.”

“Better check your room, then.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.” Arthur replies cryptically.

“Prat.”

“Idiot.”

Merlin kisses Arthur one last time then heads out before they get too distracted. The castle corridors are familiar to him, but it will take a while before he feels like they’re his home once more. The woods around Camelot never felt safe, but he knows hem like the back of his hand now. He’ll just have to settle into life here once more, and it shouldn’t be hard. Even fetching and carrying for Arthur beats trying to avoid soldiers out for blood.

When he arrives in his room, there are clothes laid out on the bed. It’s obvious they used to be Arthur’s or some other nobleman’s because Merlin can see where the seams were taken in, but that’s okay. He didn’t want anything new. Just anything that wasn’t more patch than original. Golden embroidery snakes around the collar of the shirt in an intricate vine pattern, bright against the blue fabric. Merlin slips it on along with the new trousers, and leaves his old jacket behind. Arthur will give him a hard enough time about his boots without adding the jacket into the mix.

The morning fog has burned off by the time he arrives in the throne room, and the whole place is bathed in golden light. Gwen waves at him from one side of the hall. Face bright and excited like how he remembers her being when he first arrived in Camelot. Morgana is standing next to her, smiling fondly at her, and she looks less haunted as well. Her visions haven’t been coming on as strongly since she left Camelot, and now that the war is over they’ve gotten even better. She said she only sees a bright future ahead. Not one free of troubles, to be fair, but one of endless possibility. 

Merlin settles himself next to Gwen, and Gwaine leans in from behind him, and claps him on the shoulder. Merlin smiles at him, and Gwaine smiles back. They’ve been thick as thieves since they met, and Merlin can’t wait to introduce him to Arthur properly. They are going to mix about as well as oil and water, and that is something he can’t wait to see.

The double doors leading into the hall fall closed with a heavy thud, and Merlin shifts anxiously. Morgana reaches over and bats his hand away before he can start picking at the hem of his sleeve. She lifts one fine eyebrow at him judgmentally, and he drops his hands. Leave it to Morgana to be his greatest ally on the battlefield, and his worst enemy behind closed doors. It really couldn’t be any other way. She’d cemented that when she teased him about liking Gwen.

The doors swing open once more, and a hush fall over the hall. Arthur steps forward, shoulders back and jaw set. He looks a little more like he’s marching to an execution than his coronation. Merlin is just about to do something stupid like intentionally fall over to make himself the idiot and Arthur smile, when Gwaine tightens his grip on Merlin’s shoulder.

He shakes his head, and leans in to whisper, “No. He needs to do this himself.”

Gwaine is right, but that doesn’t mean that he has to like it. He wants life to be easier for Arthur now. He fought so hard for Merlin’s people that he deserves his coronation to be as pain free as possible. He understands what Gwaine means though. Arthur took down Uther, unintentional side effect as it may be, and he has to prove that he didn’t do it for his own power. He won’t get that if Merlin interferes.

Arthur goes to his knees in front of Geoffrey, managing to look regal even though he’s kneeling. He makes his vows to Camelot in a solemn, heavy voice that carries across the hall, and Merlin has never been more proud. He may not have known from the moment he met Arthur that Arthur was destined to be a great king, but he’s known for a while. Probably since he rode out to Ealdor with them all in direct defiance of Uther’s ruling. It’s another case in which Arthur did what was right even though it could get him hurt. 

“Arise, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.” Geoffrey calls out.

Arthur rises elegantly to his feet, face still stony and serious, and mounts the dais steps. He seems to settle into his skin then, shake the nervousness from his shoulder like rainwater. He regards his people, exuding all the responsibility that comes with being made a king. By now, people would usually be calling out in Arthur’s name, but his ascent to the throne happened under extraordinary circumstances, and they’re all eager to hear what he has to say.

“People of Camelot,” Arthur says, “I stand here before you on a day that finally marks the end of a vicious and pointless war. I tried to do what I could to keep you all safe, but there is one more thing that needs to be done before we can call justice served. I hereby revoke the ban on magic. From here on, we will revert to the old treaty, a crime is a crime whether or not it uses magic, but magic itself shall not be outlawed. I once more welcome the Old Religion.”

Even though Merlin knew what Arthur was going to say, joy crackles through him like lightning. He is free once more. The joy float free of his body without any conscious input from him, and bursts in the air into thousands of flower petals that rain down on Arthur’s head. Arthur startles for a second, then fixes him with an exasperated look. Next to Merlin, Morgana laughs bright and happy.

“Long Live the King!” she calls out.

“Long Live the King! Long Live the King! Long Live the King! Long Live the King!” the crowd chants, even Gwaine who doesn’t like nobles.

“Long Live the King!” Merlin shouts, heard above all the rest of the voices, and Arthur grins at him.

It takes another half an hour before the crowd has settled enough before they start trickling out of the doors of the great hall. Merlin remains sanding where he is, despite teasing looks from Gwaine and Morgana that clearly indicate they know exactly why he’s waiting. He just shoos them away, and ignores Gwaine’s decidedly dirty eyebrow wiggle.

Finally, it’s just Arthur and Merlin alone in the hall. Arthur lets out an exhausted sigh, and sinks onto his throne. He looks more like a disgruntled prat than a king, and Merlin wouldn’t want him any other way. He wanders up to the dais, and leans against the arm rest of the throne, grinning so hard at Arhtur that his cheeks hurt.

“So, you made it through then.” Merlin says.

Arthur shifts his head to look at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief, “No thanks to you. Flower petals, Merlin? Really? I’m not a girl.”

“In all fairness, that wasn’t a conscious spell.”

“So you’re the girl then.”

“Out of the two of us, I’m the one with the beard.”

“Shut up.”

Merlin snorts, but falls silent. He lets Arthur have this time to take in this massive shift in is life. Being King is no laughing matter, even if Merlin used to tease Arthur about how spoiled he is. He’s going to have to rule now, be even more responsible for the people of Camelot. Merlin can give him a moment.

“I had an idea for my second act as King.” Arthur says finally.

“Hopefully this plan is better than the one you came up with to get Lady Elspeth off your tail that one time.” Merlin eases.

Arthur’s face scrunches up indignantly, “That was a joke, Merlin, and you know it.”

“Go on,” Merlin laughs, “What is this plan of yours?”

“What would you say about being made Court Sorcerer?”

“I would say that madness clearly runs in the family.”

Arthur shoves Merlin hard enough that he almost loses hi precarious perch on Arthur’s throne, but Arthur catches him before he can fall. He’s smiling at Merlin, warm and amused, and Merlin smiles back. He feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

Arthur’s hand slides into his, and Merlin twits his own around so that he can tangle their fingers together.

Exactly where he’s meant to be.


End file.
